


Alignment May Vary

by EmbarrassedElephant



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Abuse not between romantic interests, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ayla is reincarnation of Tatyana, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Villain Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmbarrassedElephant/pseuds/EmbarrassedElephant
Summary: Strahd is forced to consider all the blood pooling in his hands and staining his soul when an adventurer manages to change his curse, forcing a newfound morality upon his consciousness. Meeting Tatyana again is… complicated. Though distance would be safer, her presence pulls at his soul.Ayla, the next reincarnation of Tatyana after Ireena, has never had the chance to consider what her heart desires beyond immediate safety. But with forces in Barovia working against her, she must learn to reach out, struggle, and fight for what it is she wants, because her life just might depend on it.
Relationships: Reincarnation of Tatyana/Strahd von Zarovich, Strahd von Zarovich & Rahadin, Tatyana Federovna & Rahadin, Tatyana Federovna/Strahd von Zarovich
Comments: 112
Kudos: 74





	1. Man and Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Posting schedule is every two weeks.
> 
> Edit: or whenever the heck I have a chapter ready :P I aim for two weeks, but sometimes it's one, sometimes its three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strahd has an existential crisis (or two or three).

Deep within the walls of Castle Ravenloft, Strahd lay sprawled on the floor before a warm hearth, embracing a dying adventurer. He did so love to play with his food. The man’s blood leaked from several wounds upon his neck, and Strahd wanted so badly to indulge himself again, but centuries of undeath had taught him patience. He caressed the man’s face, turning it toward his own, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Tell me, Hayden, does it hurt terribly?” Strahd said. The light from the flames was glinting off the pooling blood so nicely. It was quite distracting. He let his eyes drift to the burgundy staining his rug. Hayden tried to turn his face away from Strahd, drawing the vampire’s attention again. “Tell me.” It was no longer a request.

“Not really. Everything is-” Hayden squinted his eyes, trying to focus. “It’s all going numb.” His eyelids started to close and Strahd patted at his cheek to bring him back to attention. He wanted the man to look at him as he died.

“None of that now. I have things I wish to discuss, and you are running out of time.” His eyes roamed across Hayden’s exposed and marred flesh. “Running out of time indeed.”

Blood bubbled up in Hayden’s mouth and he coughed, spraying blood across the Count’s face. He smirked, a dazed and bloody grin, as Strahd wiped the droplets away with his sleeve.

“Sorry for being inconsiber-incinsd-” His head lolled to the side as he tried to form the words.

While Strahd was enjoying the back and forth nature of their conversation, he needed, wanted, desired answers. He grabbed Hayden’s chin, any pretense of being gentle now gone, and gazed into the man’s eyes. What secrets did they hold?

“Indulge me, Hayden.” Strahd whispered. “What lies do you tell yourself before you close your eyes at night?”

Hayden squirmed suddenly, a surge of adrenaline at the uncomfortable nature of Strahd’s inquiries. “What kind of a question is that?” He pushed against the arms of his captor, but his muscles were weak and his arms grew limp.

“One you will answer.” This was the true test. In the face of death, would the mortal man cave? Would he bear the secrets of his soul to the devil, or would he die with a false sense of pride? Strahd revelled in the mystery.

“You treat all adventurers like this?” Pride it was.

The corners of Strahd’s mouth curled upward. The creeping grin of a predator.

“Only the ones I like.” And he did like Hayden. He had made for such interesting conversation at dinner.

“If I didn’t know better...” Hayden trailed off. 

Strahd batted at his cheeks again until he seemed relatively lucid. “You were saying?”

“I-” He frowned.

“If you didn’t know better…”

“Oh. You um. Secrets of dying men-” He blinked many times in succession. “You get off on-” His eyes started loll in their sockets so Strahd let one of his pointed claws prick the skin of Hayden’s cheek. The small bit of pain was enough to bring him back from the brink. 

He took in a deep breath before managing to speak. “It’s like you get off on gathering up the secrets of dying men.” Hayden’s body seemed to sink into Strahd’s arms even more at the expense of energy, expression returning to one calm. Strahd understood that dazed expression all too well - he was attempting to blink away the fog that dying left in one’s mind.

Well that just wouldn’t do. The blood of the dead was far less tantalizing than the blood of the dying just as a vintage left in the sun was nothing compared to a vintage at its prime. Hayden did not resist as Strahd cradled the back of his neck and lifted his pulsing vein to Strahd’s mouth. He brushed his lips across the pools of red on his neck, letting the blood coat his lips as he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of fear. 

He could feel the heartbeats now.  _ Ba-bump. Ba-bump.  _ The hunger rose in him, blinding him from any other urge or instinct and he realized he could not wait another heated moment. He pressed his teeth to a spot of unbroken flesh, the skin tensing, resisting, pushing back against his fangs until-  _ pop. _ His dinner winced, tension rising in Hayden’s muscles as he pushed against Strahd. But Strahd did not budge, and after a moment, Hayden relaxed. The two, man and monster, laid there embracing, until the man had but a sliver of life left in him.

“What is death like?” Hayden said in an exhale, his body unable to handle much else. Strahd had to strain to hear him.

Reluctantly pulling back, he tried to meet Hayden’s gaze, but the man was too far gone. His eyes were open, seeking, searching, but finding nothing--the fog was too profound to escape now.

“Cold,” Strahd said, brushing a stray strand of hair from Hayden’s forehead. Hayden’s skin was cold. “What is life like? I can’t remember.”

“Short.”

“Ah, I suppose I do remember the brevity of it all.”

Hayden smiled then. He was dazed, but there was something so certain about it. Strahd tilted his head, inspecting his features - the blonde hair and blue eyes so unlike the colors of those in Barovia, the wide cheekbones and full lips. Strahd ran the back of his hand against Hayden’s cheek, feeling the rough stubble growing there.

“You’ve lost, you know.”

Strahd chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest.

“So that is the lie you tell yourself.” Strahd decided then that the conversation was over. He wanted to enjoy the last sip at the bottom of the wine bottle. He dug his teeth in again, relaxing as the warm blood flowed into his mouth and coated his tongue in its sweetness.

“It’s not what you’d expect...” Hayden reached a shaking arm up and gave Strahd’s back a couple demeaning pats. If the man wasn’t practically dead already, Strahd would have torn him asunder.

Hayden grimaced, straining the breath against the weight of death on his chest, before gathering the last bit of his strength.

“You’ll get it eventually. Good luck, Strahd von Zarovich.” Hayden smiled at him then. It was soft and without malice. His hand fell, limp, and he did not move again. Strahd enjoyed one final gulp before the taste soured. He pulled back, taking his time in inspecting the glazed over eyes, the slightly parted mouth, the beauty that would soon begin to fade. He hummed in satisfaction. This was a good meal. And its final words fascinated him. Normally, if a person used their final breath to utter the devil’s name, it was a curse. This time was different. Why?

“A shame you never succumbed to my offers.” Sometimes Strahd ignored their wishes and turned them anyway. Perhaps he should do that in this situation? He frowned. Something felt off about that thought. Something felt inherently wrong, so much so that his gut twisted. Well, Strahd wasn’t wrong to ignore instinct. He would let this body rot.

One of the doors to the study opened, and from it came Rahadin, his chamberlain, a dusk elf of cruel, unnatural beauty that carried the screams of the dead with him. One need only listen carefully to hear the chorus.

“Ah, Rahadin, I am glad to see you yet live.” Strahd smiled and stood, letting the body fall from his arms. The casual thud as Hayden hit the floor… pained him? Strahd ignored the feeling.

“I am a little worse for wear, my lord. And in desperate need of a bath. But I am alive.” He bowed to Strahd. Always a man of protocol.

“Yes, you do seem to be covered in blood. You made certain the last one is dead, then?” Strahd took out a handkerchief and wiped at the corners of his mouth.

“Of course, my lord. She bled like a pig.” Rahadin said and stood taller, clearly proud of his work. Strahd found he couldn’t bear to look at the man. He turned away, hoping his chamberlain hadn’t seen the disgust on his face. Why did he feel disgust? Strahd had known Rahadin since before he became a vampire, and had always understood him to be a horribly cruel man. That fact never bothered him before, but now it was beginning to make his skin crawl and his bones itch. He made his way to the window in order to buy himself time to think.   
_What is wrong with me?_ He thought as he inspected the skin of his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rahadin making his way to the body. He noticed a slight limp to Rahadin’s gait.

“Do you wish this one to stay dead, my Lord?”

His instinct had said no earlier, but Strahd was beginning to wonder if that’s what it had been after all. He opened his mouth to say that no, he did want this one to live amongst the undead, but a chill crawled up his spine. He rolled his shoulders and clenched his jaw, trying desperately to be rid of whatever emotion was trying to crush him.

“Yes.” Strahd said through gritted teeth. “He may remain dead.”

The crawling of his skin ebbed ever so slightly. He clung to that stillness, that brief respite, but he began to worry that it may just be the calm before the storm. He rubbed at the muscles in his neck, trying to release the tension he found there.

Rahadin nodded. “I will dispose of him, then.” He moved to lift the body from its puddle of blood.

_ “You’ve lost, you know. It’s not what you’d expect…” _

Strahd turned to face Rahadin, folding his hands behind his back and digging his claws into the palm of his hand. His dark blood mixed with what was left of Hayden’s on his hands.

“Rahadin.” He was holding the body already.

“I’ve changed my mind.” As the words left his mouth, he had an overwhelming urge to claw the skin off his face. Instead, he drew more blood from the meat of his palm. Rahadin, bless his dark soul, did not question.

“Of course. I will make the necessary preparations.”

* * *

Patience was not something one learned overnight. No, patience was something that Strahd mastered over the course of centuries. So he stood, waiting, for Hayden’s corpse to show a semblance of undeath. A sudden twitch or awkward flick of a hand perhaps. It had already been a day. It would not be long now. Diligent as ever, Rahadin waited with him, regardless of how demanding mortal bodies could be and how tired the man must have felt. Strahd had not requested the company, but he did not turn it away. If he cleared his head enough, the itching under his skin would subside some. He needed answers, and fast. Strahd refused to suffer like this for much longer.

“You brought me back.” Hayden’s voice. Scratchy and dry, as if he desperately needed something to drink. The corpse reached its hand up toward the ceiling, turning it over and inspecting it. Hayden’s head turned as its eyes focused on Rahadin, the only man with a heart still beating in his chest. Hayden’s arm fell to his side, body still, eyes unblinking.

“Leave us, Rahadin. You may rest now.” Rahadin did not question the order, bowing out and closing the door behind him. Hayden’s eyes trailed him as he left.

“The fire is out,” Hayden lay in the exact spot he had died, the warm hearth now cold. “How long was I… gone?”

Hayden seemed so calm, so still, but Strahd knew that once the hunger hit, he would become much more feral. If left alone, he would likely try to seek out someone to feed upon from the nearby village of Barovia. Strahd’s face scrunched up.

_ I won’t let that happen. _

Just as the spawn began propping himself up on his elbows, Strahd moved in a silent heartbeat. 

He stood over Hayden, his boot pressing hard into his neck. Eyes widening, mouth agape, gasping for breath like a dying fish, Hayden grabbed at Strahd’s ankle. He was frantic, clawing, tearing, ripping the pant leg, desperate to remove the pressure from his throat, the habit of breathing not quite having left the spawn’s mind.

_ I did this to him. _

Strahd couldn’t help but remember the vibrant man who had found himself stuck in Barovia like all the others. Scared yet determined. Hayden had smiled through his fear when Strahd invited him and his friends to dinner. Hayden had respected his power, his strength, his age, yet not acquiesced to his every whim. Though he had not admitted so, Strahd had admired Hayden’s resolve. But now? Now Hayden was a shell of his former self. And it was Strahd’s fault.

He tried not to think about it.

“You may be wondering, Hayden, what could Strahd von Zarovich possibly do to you now. I’ve already killed all your friends. I’ve already killed you.” Strahd shifted his weight, pressing his foot harder onto Hayden’s neck. He looked away, hoping he appeared nonchalant, as if he didn’t even notice Hayden beneath him. In reality, he wanted to reach up and rub at his own neck.

_ It must be extremely uncomfortable, my boot on his throat. _

Hayden resorted to kicking at Strahd, the force of which would have broken the bones of any mortal man.

“You have nothing to lose, right?” Strahd lessened the pressure but did not remove his boot. He looked down at Hayden, who stopped kicking, and tilted his head. Hayden had a wild look in his eyes, untrusting and suspicious. Hungry.

_ I created this monster. I created all of them. _

Strahd tried to bury that thought as well, shoving it away as best he could.

“Rest assured, Hayden. There is never nothing to lose.” They remained there, man and monster, for a breathless and still moment, Hayden’s nails digging into Strahd’s flesh, before Hayden turned his gaze away and let his arms fall to his sides. He shrunk into himself, seeming smaller. Strahd nodded, satisfied with the submissive behavior, and removed his foot. He stood tall, straightening any wrinkles in his vest or shirt as he stepped away, trying to make certain he still appeared in control. He paid no mind to the torn pant leg.

“Rise, Hayden.” Hayden scrambled to his feet, shoulders hunched and lips curling up into a snarl. But he obeyed, as spawn always did, for he could not bring himself to ignore his creator.

“Tell me what you meant before you died. That I had lost. Tell me of your delusion.” Strahd commanded.

Hayden glanced around the room, shifting from foot to foot, his body jerking with uncoordinated power, appendages moving in disturbing patterns. With time, Hayden would come to harness that power, becoming more and more graceful as the years lagged on. 

“Hayden, focus. Talk with me and I might feed you. Ignore me and I will let you rot in my dungeons.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t certain if they were true. Would he let him rot in the dungeons, no access to food? Would it be better to run a stake through Hayden’s heart?

_ No point thinking about that now. _

Hayden’s eyes focused on Strahd. They were wide and there was tension in his muscles, but he could see how Hayden was trying to let his shoulders drop. Yet his legs remained poised and stiff, on alert. Hayden tried to wave his hand nonchalantly, but Strahd could see his opposite hand curling into a fist. It was an awkward combination, trying to appear non-threatening to a superior while also remaining ready for anything. Hayden was a stumbling child compared to Strahd’s steadiness.

Except he didn’t feel steady.

“Maybe it was a delusion. It depends. How are you feeling, Strahd?” Hayden moved left and right, tilting his head, looking at Strahd from different angles. Left and right, up and down he bobbed.

“Do you feel remorse?” Hayden said.

Strahd scoffed. “I never quite grasped its utility.” But his chest ached. Something pounding against his sternum, trying to break free of its prison. He hated it.  _ Hated _ it. Why wouldn’t it stop? The smallest sign of discomfort found its way to Strahd’s face. It was only a moment, a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a slight downturn. The skin of Hayden’s face stretched into a grin.

“Was that disgust or hatred I just saw?” Hayden began chuckling. “It worked. It actually worked, didn’t it?”

_ No! I’m fine. _

His hands moved out of habit, muscle memory taking over, body reacting of its own volition, as he pulled a dagger from his belt, driving it hilt deep into Hayden’s shoulder, the force pushing him backward until they were pressed up against the wall. 

“What,” Strahd whispered, his face close to Hayden’s as the spawn gasped in pain. “Did you do to me?”

Hayden clutched Strahd’s wrist and leaned in closer to the devil’s face. The two were close enough that Strahd could feel the chill of death coming from Hayden’s skin. Could Hayden feel the same chill coming from Strahd? 

“We changed your curse. We didn’t think we could kill you. So, we cursed you. We cursed you with knowledge of good, and the desire to put the thoughts of others before your own.” Hayden grimaced, trying to push Strahd off of him and failing.

“We weren’t really sure what that meant. Doesn’t seem like you’re rolling on the floor weeping. But it brings joy to this still heart of mine to know that you are struggling.” Hayden calmed and his brows furrowed. He looked… sad. “My friends and I’s final fuck you to the devil Strahd.” Strahd yanked the dagger free and Hayden fell to the floor. 

He was lying. He was making a fool of Strahd. Hayden started laughing as Strahd paced. He rolled on the floor, cackling, bleeding shoulder forgotten. Well, there were always ways to turn the tables. Strahd grabbed him by the hair and yanked him off of his feet.

“You want to hear the best part?” Hayden’s eyes were wide with excitement, spittle spilling from his mouth as he grinned, his face and expression so controted it reminded Strahd of a rabid animal. “You did it to yourself. The curse depended upon certain conditions. If we killed you, nothing changed. If you killed us,” Hayden’s feet dangled as Strahd held him aloft. He wrapped his fingers around Strahd’s wrist, digging his nails into Strahd’s flesh. He gazed into Strahd’s eyes as he spoke. “Well. I guess we know what happened.” Heayden gave a final, tight squeeze with his hands, before letting his arms fall limp at his sides, still dangling from his hair in Strahd’s grasp. He seemed content to just gaze at Strahd, a self-satisfied smirk upon his face. 

What did this mean if he was telling the truth? Did it mean Strahd was good now? He didn’t feel good. He felt awful, like someone had replaced his blood with boiling water. And he was furious.

As Hayden began cackling again, as though he had won, as though he were on top of the world, Strahd placed his dagger just over Hayden’s stomach.

“I warned you, Hayden. There is never nothing to lose.” It all happened so quickly. Strahd wasn’t really thinking about it, his body just  _ moved _ , the action second nature.He pressed the sharp tip of the blade into the flesh of Hayden’s stomach before jerking it to the side, leaving a wide gash in the blade’s place. Strahd’s mind remained blank, acting without thinking. He wanted to  _ hurt _ Hayden for his insolence. So he didn’t stop there. He let the dagger fall to the floor before digging his hand into the wound, grasping what he found, and yanking it free. Any hint of joy drained from Hayden’s face. Strahd released him, letting him fall, discarded, to the ground, his insides falling onto his lap as horror wormed its way across Hayden’s face.

Strahd moved behind Hayden to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t worry, it will all sew itself back together eventually. Just make sure you gather all the pieces before that starts happening. I wonder how it might feel if you put them back in the wrong places?” Even as the words left his mouth, he found them revolting, the vowels leaving a rancid taste on his tongue and the consonants causing bile to rise in his throat. He felt as if his mind was screaming, a cacophony of pain, sorrow, and regret echoing in his skull.

“You’re a monster.” Hayden rasped and Strahd couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of his eyes. Hayden’s hands grabbed at his intestines, whole body shaking, looking between them and his body, the dark inhuman blood dripping, and delicately tried to put everything back inside.

Contemplating repeatedly ramming his head against a wall to stop the screams, Strahd moved to the window as Hayden whimpered behind him. Strahd could hear the man struggling not to retch. He looked down at his hands, his clothes, stained with the blood of a monster of his own creation, and he began to understand just where that revulsion he felt was coming from. He quietly recited an incantation accompanied by a shaky gesture and the blood vanished from his hands.

_ Why do they still seem so red? _ He thought.

“Rahadin!” Strahd screamed through the halls. Did his voice sound as ragged as it felt? Rahadin, ever loyal as he was, appeared in but a moment. Normally Strahd would have protested about him not going and getting rest like Strahd had ordered. But not today.

Strahd turned away from Hayden, unable to look at him, and shoved his shaking hands in his pockets. “When you are finished, Hayden, you will walk with Rahadin. You will not harm him and you will do exactly as he says. Am I understood?”

Silence.

“Am I understood!” He raised his voice.

“Yes, sir.” Hayden’s voice was pained and twisted, his eyes unable to meet Strahd’s. 

“Good.” Strahd turned to Rahadin and began making his way from the room. “Take him to the catacombs.” 

Behind him, Hayden let out a choked sob.

Strahd hesitated. In that sob alone, he could hear just how broken Hayden was.

He placed a hand on Rahadin’s shoulder.

“Give him something comfortable to lay on.” Strahd said quietly.

With that he walked through the outer wall of his keep, stepping out onto the roof of the castle and out of sight just into the double over, retching and shaking. After a few minutes, he straightened, turning his gaze skyward, surrounded by the mist and the rain, wondering if the droplets cold wash away his sins.

* * *

“This is the last of them, my lord.” Rahadin said and placed the final set of books amidst the already large pile on Strahd’s desk.

“Thank you, Rahadin.” Strahd shifted in his seat, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Remind me again how you have organized the stacks.”

“This portion of the desk is from the first century, when you were more meticulous with your tomes. This stack here,” he gestured with a stiff hand, “Is from your first decade. The stacks then proceed in order toward the present. This side of the desk is organized by century. In all of the stacks, the oldest of the tomes are on top, for your ease of use.”

Strahd picked up one of the bound leather books, no title on its spine, from the first pile Rahadin mentioned. 

“So this,” he turned it over in his hands, “is among the first things I wrote following my transformation?”

“That is correct, my lord. I hope my aid in collecting them together has been helpful to you.”

“Very. You are dismissed.” Strahd said while running his fingers over the old leather, not bothering to look at Rahadin.

He hesitated to open the old book. What had he written, in those first moments of lucidity after turning? Taking a deep breath, he opened the first page.

_ I mourn my love like I have mourned no other. Not even at the news of my mother’s death did I curse at the gods like I have with the passing of Tatyana- _

He closed the book, sorrow overwhelming him. He ran his hand across his face. If he found the first two sentences nigh impossible to stomach, the memories threatening to consume him, how could he bear to read all 400 years worth of notes and journals? Even worse, Barovia was a dreary place surrounded by a mist that denied passage to not only the living, but to the souls of the dead as well. He lost Tatyana, all those years ago, but she always came back. And she always died, just out of his grasp. He was uncertain how to face her again, but he had time. It took her nearly a century to appear again, and Ireena, the latest reincarnation, had… had an accident just the last month. He had time, he didn’t need to worry about this now.

“Why am I bothering with this?” He said to no one in particular, trying to distract from his worry. 

He knew why. As Hayden’s words had continued to echo in his mind, as the self-hatred grew, he had resorted to one of the many skills he had acquired in his lifetime. Research. If Hayden insisted that Strahd was good, what better way to prove him wrong than to compare his present state of mind with that of his past state of mind?

But why did the first thing he wrote after turning have to be about  _ her _ ?

He took a steadying breath, steeling himself. He knew it was unnecessary, but in these quiet moments alone, he allowed himself the comfort. He opened to a random page midway through the book.

_ I visited the dusk elves today, the same that exiled Rahadin many years ago. While I was encouraged at seeing their small numbers, I discovered they had plotted against myself and the Zarovich name yet again. Patrina, beautiful as she was, came to me of her own volition. I did not charm her, I did not bid her come. She came to me, offering comfort from my losses.  _

_ They stoned her. They stoned her to keep her from me. I was in such shock that it was all I could do to carry her broken body back to Castle Ravenloft and entomb her there myself. _

_ I will send Rahadin in the night. It will be cathartic for him and, hopefully, make them even more regretful of their sins. _

Strahd remembered those moments. Patrina had been a striking woman, powerful and knowing. She knew what she wanted, and that had intrigued Strahd. Now he realized she had been a mere distraction from the boredom, an attempt to fill the gaping hole in his soul. He also remembered that he ordered Rahadin to slaughter all of the dusk elf women, so that their race may die out and know that it was their own doing. The Strahd in these pages seemed to fully embrace that logic. But, now, he found that he could not blame them.

Perhaps the blame could be put on Rahadin. He committed the act, mercilessly killing and enjoying it, too. But no, he had given the order. It would be one thing to execute those that killed Patrina. It was the logical consequence of murder, losing one’s own life. Instead, Strahd had decided to, essentially, commit genocide. A very slow genocide.

He set the book aside, face expressionless, before grabbing another volume, this one more recent, from his second century of undeath. He opened the first page.

_ I have discovered, through disguising myself as one Vasili von Holtz, that the burgomaster of Vallaki has been conspiring against me. It was one of the house servants, a spy in my employ, that first alerted me to a possible coup. But it does not end there. No, they have been attempting to turn the other burgomasters against me. I heard whispers that they covet my position, my status and my wealth, and believe they would be a better fit to the title of Count, Lord of Barovia and Master of Ravenloft. _

He skipped to the next page.

_ It is done. I left the burgomaster alive of course, relieved of his title and his sons. It was something I will remember for some time. I invited him to dinner a few evenings ago and asked, “What is the price of greed?” With a quick incantation the thoughts of his mind were no longer private to only him. I listened to them and learned he understood his position.  _

_ He answered with a sigh. “Death.” _

_ “Death of whom?” _

_ I remember him squirming in his seat. His mind revealed he was worried that I would turn him, but I am not so obvious. _

_ “Of the perpetrator.” _

_ “How can said perpetrator learn his lesson if he is dead?” I dismissed him, informing him that, upon his arrival in Vallaki, he had one day to make other living arrangements, as the new burgomaster would be moving in soon. He found his sons, his punishment, laying soundly in their beds. But they will never breathe again. _

Strahd remembered those boys. No more than 10 years old. Even now he could remember the feeling of their necks, of his fingers tightening, of their fingers grasping at his own, he could remember how the struggled and struggled to no avail-

A drop of water fell to the page, blurring the ink there. Strahd frowned, looking up at the ceiling, inspecting it for any leak, waiting for several moments but finding no source for the drop. He blinked, and another ran down his cheek. He raised his hand and wiped at the offending liquid.

That tome pushed to the side, Strahd grabbed another, and another, and another. He found the same thing every time. Misery. Pain. Evil. It hurt. It felt like all those he had killed were screaming at him, tearing at his skin and his soul and he could not bear the pain he felt. He could not bear it so he tore his shirt open to scratch at the skin of his chest and abdomen as he heaved heavy breaths. His claw-like fingernails tearing at the flesh, reddening it, causing dark blood to seep in places, and it hurt but what else could he do? He could not escape the pain inside, not with memories of a man so unlike himself and yet he knew those memories were his own; what could he do but cause physical pain to distract from it? 

Could he escape it in another way? He could change the laws, meter out justice with less severity. Would that cool the brimstone in his veins?

He could do it. The pain happened under certain circumstances, so if he righted those circumstances, perhaps the pain would subside. Then he could continue living in peace, Hayden would be wrong, and Strahd would not suffer. Yes, yes he would discuss this with Rahadin in the evening.

_ Hayden had to be wrong _ .

* * *

Some Years Later 

Strahd lay in his coffin, though it isn't what most would assume it to be. He would never lay in a dirt filled, rotting coffin. That wasn't worthy of a rat's home, let alone the count of Barovia. No, Strahd's coffin was quite comfortable, with a soft, plush lining and pillows behind his head. If breathing were a necessity for Strahd, he might sigh in satisfaction, but instead he lay like the dead. Unmoving. Still. Relaxed.

At least, until his coffin lid opened without any influence from its silent occupant. He opened his eyes and blinked up at Rahadin standing above him, who was opening his mouth to speak, but Strahd raised his hand, shushing him.

"I can't decide if I want you to explain why you have woken me, or if I want you to stay silent, not uttering a word for fear of throwing you against the wall." Strahd said.

Rahadin squinted down at him. 

"You wouldn't."

"I might."

"I've spoken, and you haven't." Rahadin quirked an eyebrow down at him.

"You are not incorrect." Strahd quirked his eyebrow in return.

"So you wish me to explain?"

"It would seem so."

Rahadin sighed. "My lord, sometimes you are impossible."

"I'm a bored man, Rahadin. My waking hours must be filled with something, and enjoyment from taunting you only seems appropriate."

"As you seem fond of reminding me." He moved to the door and stood at parade rest as Strahd lifted himself from the coffin and stepped out.

"So, are you going to explain," Strahd slipped his shoes on, "Or is it a mystery?"

"The petitions, my lord."

"I seem to recall an agreement of ours, Rahadin. Every few petition day, I get to rest and you handle the petitions."

"I seem to recall a clause in that agreement, my lord.” Rahadin rolled his head on his shoulders. “I feel you would… desire your opinion to be heard on this particular matter.”

Strahd nodded. “What sort of petition did you believe yourself incapable of handling on your own?”

Rahadin grabbed Strahd's cloak and placed it on his master’s shoulders before clasping it in the front.

"Lady Watcher of Vallaki is having trouble with an instance of murder."

"And they brought it to my attention?"

"You have made your desires in such circumstances clear."

"Good. She is a competent woman; I worried she may ignore more orders and handle matters herself.”

Rahadin brushed some dust from Strahd’s shoulders before stepping back.

“Lady Watcher has been committed to you for decades, since she was barely a woman. I would have been quite shocked if she decided to ignore your proclamations.”

“Well, what is the problem?" Strahd made his way up the stairs of the catacombs, Rahadin falling into step behind him.

"There are two suspects. Both insist the other committed the crime and yet both are equally suspicious. They were the last to see the victim and neither have an alibi, since the third wheel is now dead. Either they are both innocent or one of them is a very good liar."

"You could not come to a solution on your own?"

"My solution would be to take both of their heads," Rahadin said,  _ but you now insist I restrain myself on such matters _ . The unspoken clause hung between them, souring Strahd's mood. He would attend to the squabble, and perhaps hear more petitions, if he felt it necessary. The two did not talk anymore as they made their way to the audience hall. There were a few people in line as he approached the large double doors, and they all fell over themselves bowing as he passed. Strahd did not bother opening the doors, instead choosing to walk straight through them.

Two men stood in the chamber, arguing back and forth, their voices echoing against the high ceiling.

"You were always jealous of us!"

"What? You're kidding yourself if you thought she was ever interested in you."

"I can't believe you. Just admit it already! You thought that if you couldn't have her, well, then no one could."

The large double doors opened behind him and Rahadin stepped in.

"You didn't mention this was a lover's quarrel.” Strahd felt he’d had enough lover’s quarrels in his life already, he really didn’t want to bother with someone else’s.

Rahadin raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how that was pertinent information." 

Strahd leveled a blank stare at him and spoke in a low voice. "You grow too bold, Rahadin." Rahadin bowed his head in apology, and Strahd approached the men. When they noticed him, they fumbled over their words and bowed deeply. 

"Rise." They stood. He stared at them. They had similar features, a straight jaw and bulbous nose, though their heights and eyes varied. Brothers or cousins, perhaps.

"I-" The taller man started and Strahd glared at him. He stopped talking and Strahd turned his attention to the shorter of the two.

"Tell me your name."

"I'm Harkus, your majesty."

"Your majesty was my father. You may address me as count, my lord, or your excellency."

"I'm sorry, your maj-my lord. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't." He sighed. "And your name?"

"Rilsky, your excellency." Rilsky elbowed Harkus, and Harkus elbowed back. Brothers, then.

“We wanted to thank you, your excellency, for taking time out of your day to see us.” Rilsky started.

“Yes, we uh, we’ve heard stories, my lord, of when you wouldn’t see anyone. I humbly thank you for the chance to see you.” Harkus bowed at him, and Rilsky frowned before trying to bow more deeply.

“Enough.” Strahd said and the men straightened, arms stiff at their sides. “My dear Rilsky,” Strahd reached out and took the man’s hand, running his own along the forearm and palm, feeling at his pulse, the blood rushing under the skin. How easy it would be… No. 

Strahd smiled at him and spoke in a relaxed tone. "This is all such a hassle for everyone involved." Rilsky blinked, his eyes glazing over as he smiled back at Strahd. "Why don't you just tell me the truth so we can all get this sordid mess over with." But Rilsky's smile faltered and he frowned. The glaze was still there, though.

"I... my lord, I fear that you will not be happy with the answer, and I do not wish to disappoint you."

"Oh come now." Strahd threw an arm over the man's shoulder and let his own relax. "I've lived a long time, Rilsky. Being in a constant state of disappointment is exhausting and, quite frankly, boring. I'm certain we can come to an agreement regardless of your actions."

Harkus was sweating. Strahd could see it as he looked at him from the corner of his eyes and levelled a sly grin at him. Rilsky only took a few moments to think it over. The charm was working well on this one. 

"Yeah, yeah okay. I trust you. I did it. I killed her." Strahd squeezed his shoulders and gave him a half hearted shake.

"See? That wasn't so bad. I'm not even angry!" He laughed and the echoes only made it feel more hollow to his ears. Did Rahadin notice the emptiness? The lack of mirth?

"NO!" Harkus fumbled. "No, my lord, he-he didn't kill her, I did!" Strahd tilted his head. They went from insisting the other was guilty to claiming that they were both guilty? What an interesting turn of events.

"Huh? Harkus, don't you remember? It was me who did it."

"No, I did it. And-and I enjoyed it, too!"

"Harkus, I don't know what you're talking about. It's fine, we can trust Strahd-"

"Do not assume familiarity you have not earned. My given name is reserved for those I am closest to.” Straid said. “Now, Rilsky, is there any truth to your brother’s words?”

"I mean, I guess so. He didn't actually do the killin, that bit was me-"

"Rilsky!" Harkus hissed. The man's heart beat loudly in Strahd's ears.

"-but Harkus helped in other ways."

"Oh?" Strahd asked. "So you both knew of the plan?"

"He-he's not right, my lord!" Desperation dripped from Harkus' words. "He's never been quite right in the head, you see and-"

Strahd interrupted him with a quick hand gesture, his fingers tracing a small pattern in the air as he whispered something in draconic. 

_ "Do not speak again without my explicit permission unless you wish to hurry along your brother's execution."  _ Strahd said, the words becoming a language that Harkus could understand and hear in his mind. Strahd could not have risked the threat aloud, for saying such a thing may shatter the charm on Rilsky.

"Now, Rilsky. Tell me, in detail, what happened. Leave nothing to my imagination." And tell Strahd he did. He listened to the whole tale of two brothers in love with the same woman, but she did not reciprocate either of their feelings. And so they made a plan. They didn't want anyone else to have her, so they killed her. Rilsky said they each kept a lock of her hair as a keepsake, something to remember their lost love by. When it became clear that they were both suspects, they decided to lean into it, create yet another farce, and hope that the confusion would lessen their sentence, or perhaps it would be ruled a mystery and neither would be punished. Something ridiculous like that. He found their logic confounding; it did not take into account the possibility of failure. At the end of the story, Harkus was staring at the ground, his arms limp, his face resigned.

Strahd had grown very displeased.

_ Why is it that no matter how hard I try to make Barovia a better place, there are still scum like these? Why do I bother? _

He contemplated going back to how he once was. He could revert back to the tyrant instead of the strict Count. He could be the tyrant that took whatever he wanted, that killed whoever he wanted. He had no need for remorse because he could not break a law, for he was the law.

But even thinking about it turned his stomach, made his legs weak, made him want to pick at the flesh of his hands. No, he couldn't go back to how he was. He would judge these men fairly, taking into consideration their crimes and appropriate punishments. Perhaps at one point in time, he would have left them alive and instead terrorizing those they loved. But the penalty for taking the life of another was to lose your own, and so that would be the punishment dealt. That was justice, that was… good.

Strahd tried not to think about all the lives he’d taken.

"Rahadin."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Do you recall the solution you mentioned earlier?"

Their heads hit the floor before they had a chance to scream, blood pooling on the stone floor. Strahd turned away.

"Tell the rest in line they are welcome to wait in the dining hall and deal with this mess. In the meantime, I'm going for a walk. I'll return eventually."

* * *

The rest of the petitions were uneventful. Some he resolved, some issues he deemed unnecessary of his attention, and some were so mundane he merely sent them away with a wave of his hand. Did they really expect him to get them a job after having lost one due to inappropriate behavior? He rubbed at his temples. Sometimes it felt as thought the people were taking advantage of his newfound mercy. Centuries of violence encouraged him to lash out at those that wasted their lord’s time, but everytime he considered such a thought he felt like he was being ripped in two. 

Perhaps he already had been torn in two and he hadn’t noticed yet.

He sent another person out and drummed his fingers against the armrest of his throne. No one else came.

"Rahadin! Was that the last of the villagers?"

"I do not believe it was the last, my lord."

"Send them in then, I am tiring of the day." Strahd propped his head up with his hand and crossed his legs. 

A young woman pushed through the doors in a worn yet neat off-white peasant's dress. She kept her hair tucked away in a loosely wrapped scarf. She likely used it as a hood from the rain as well as for warmth. Her face was obscured, features hidden by the fabric.

"What matters do you wish to discuss with me?" He said as he let his eyes wander the room.

"I wish to offer my blood, your excellency." Not surprising. In the years since his... unfortunate condition began, he'd started a policy. Any citizen of Barovia could travel to him and offer their blood in return for a small boon. Strahd told himself he did this in order to avoid that feeling of disgust and remorse, of his blood boiling and his skin crawling, not because he was  _ good _ . It wasn't because he was considering their needs above his own, like Hayden continued to insist.

Hayden. He would need to be fed soon. It had been a while. Perhaps this woman could give her blood to him. Strahd wouldn't let her near him of course, Hayden likely wouldn’t have enough control to take only what he needed. No, he couldn't feed directly, but if he were hungry enough, he would be willing to drink blood collected into a cup. Yes, that would work nicely. 

"Come forward." She obeyed, tugging at the edges of her scarf, hiding her face further, and Strahd noticed a slight tremor to her hands. He tilted his head and inspected her, letting his hand fall to his lap. Did she even realize she was tugging at it? A nervous habit, perhaps?

"What is it you hide beneath your scarf?" Her hand started to move toward her head but she caught herself, opting to clasp them in front of her instead.

"I- I hide nothing from you, my lord."

_ This could be fun _ . Strahd thought before hesitating. He waited for the pain, the broiling regret, the screams, anything to make an appearance, but it did not come. He was still learning what caused him pain and what did not. Why was he feeling fine now, when he’d thought it may be fun to tease this woman? No, that wasn’t it. He hadn’t wanted to tease, but to interact, and he wished her no ill will. And he was often sarcastic with Rahadin; that caused him no feelings of discomfort. 

"Oh, how I do love a good mystery." He stood and took his time descending the steps of the dais. She cleared her throat as he approached, perhaps out of nervousness, and her gaze roamed the room, looking anywhere but at him.

"Though you may wish otherwise," He said as he stopped before her, far closer than she seemed to appreciate if her increase in heart rate was any indication. He reached up and grabbed at the sides of the scarf. "You now have my full and undivided-".

Strahd froze as he pushed the scarf back, her black hair falling haphazardly, some still stuck in the scarf around her shoulders. Her green eyes were frantic, scared. Freckles dotted her soft features and a blush was beginning to touch her cheeks. She looked up into his eyes and he felt the same breathlessness, the same awe he always did when he saw her. Tatyana.

_ This is too soon.  _ He frowned. Tackling this self hatred was hard enough as it is, but how could he possibly manage it with her back in his life? It was too soon. Normally there was nearly a century before he saw her again, this had been under 3 decades. 

He wasn’t ready to face her. Not her warm smiles or her caring nature. He let his finger trace her jawline. Maybe it wasn’t her, the hair color was wrong, dark like his own, no hint of the red it normally held.

A blood curdling scream began to bubble up from the recesses of his memory, an echo that was becoming louder and louder the longer he looked at his beloved, like he was getting closer and closer to the source of that scream. His gut twisted, like a dagger tearing and ripping, so he tried desperately to push the memories away. With his current condition, he knew the memories just might tear him in two. 

Her eyes met his, looking at him under long lashes, and she frowned. She didn’t recognize him, she never did, and for once, he wondered if that was best. How would she look at him if she knew of all that he had done, all the times he’d failed?

Though it pained him to let her slip through his fingers yet again, he could not bear the guilt of their past. So he let his hands fall and he walked away. Away from her youth and beauty, and from the power she seemed to hold over him. He made his way toward Rahadin, who stood at attention just inside the large double doors of the audience hall.

"I do not want her blood. Turn her away." Strahd said and Rahadin bowed his head once in acknowledgement. "Did she travel here alone?"

"If there are others, they did not come across the drawbridge with her, my lord."

For now, he would leave her to her own devices. He needed time to think, to plan. How to have her and not incite this wretched pain that followed him everywhere? As if on cue, he felt a burning in his chest, like he’d been lit aflame, and a voice in his head - was it his own voice? - screamed at him that he did not own her. He could not  _ have _ her.

_ What a ridiculous thought. I am lord of Barovia, Master of Ravenloft.  _ He assured himself.  _ I… I can have whatever I wish. _ Yet he could not stop the burning that made him want to throw himself into the cool embrace of running water. But no, as a vampire, that would ail him just the same. He rubbed his chest with the palm of his hand and turned away from Rahadin.

“Follow her.” He said through gritted teeth. “Do not be seen but make certain she arrives home safely.”

Was there a way to be close to her without feeling like this?

“Take note of where she lives, as well.” With that, Strahd left the room, trying to ignore the echoes from his past.

He did not look back at his beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my writing group for their invaluable help and encouragement: dispatchwithlove, hibbidyhai, StarSock9, and ST_Le.


	2. This Old Song and Dance

Ayla struggled to capture the images in her memory on a page. Holding a piece of charcoal, she swept her hand across the page, a hard line for the jaw, a soft line for the shadow beneath. Boiled down to such simplistic terms, it should be easy, yet it was oh so difficult to get it right.

Though she dreamed of her mother often, every time Ayla woke, the memories were but indistinct clouds of color and shape. Charcoal was not a good medium for catching such a memory, so she always found herself unable to give life to the drawings of her mother.

She moved to put the box beside her in the grass, but couldn't stop herself from staring at it. She ran her hands across the surface, following the carvings in the lid with her fingertips, tracing the patterns in the fur of a creature she had never seen before curled up amidst rolling carvings of waves and vines.

_"Can I have it yet papa, can I?" Ayla jumped back and forth on her feet as her father, Danut, held the box up above her head._

_He laughed as she jumped, little arms reaching._

_"The stain hasn't dried, so no. Patience, little one. It will be well worth it in the end." He scruffed up her hair._

_"But papaaa. I've been waiting so long! Make it dried faster!"_

_"Make it dry faster, sweetie." Her mother said while folding clothes on the kitchen table._

_"See papa! She's telling you to make it dried faster, too!"_

_Her mother smiled and shook her head while Danut looked at his wife in horror._

_"You're siding with her, Sorina? How could you?" His hand raised to his chest and he stumbled backward dramatically._

_"Oh no, you aren't dragging me into this mess." Sorina waggled a finger at her husband, Ayla watching, wide eyes moving between her parents. "You're the one who told her you were making her a present. I recommended you wait until it was done to tell her about this. My hands are tied.” She turned and leaned back against the table, sitting on its edge._

_"But you do need to wait patiently, Ayla, regardless of how childish your father is being."_

_Ayla's shoulders slumped and she dramatically stomped over to the fireplace. It was several hours before her father presented the small box to her. She took it in her hands excitedly, but when she saw it, the small critter engraved on the surface, her face scrunched up._

_"It's a rat, papa."_

_"No it's not, little one. Come here." She walked over to him and he lifted her onto his lap. "Do you see here?" He pointed at the creature's tail._

_"I guess."_

_"It's furry. Rats don’t have furry tails. And do you see here? That's water. Waves bigger than any we could see in lake Zarovich."_

_"Really?" The wonder returned to her eyes as she gazed up at him._

_"Yes. I heard the story from the Vistani. Outside of Barovia, there are lakes so large, you can't see the other side."_

_"Nuh-uh!"_

_"Yeah-huh!" Ayla giggled at her father's antics._

_"They called it the ocean. Supposedly, Count Strahd has a library full of books that talk about the outside world, and the Vistani sometimes bring him new ones. This creature," he put his hand on top of it, and she placed her little hand on his. "This creature is called an otter. They live in the ocean all their lives. Do you know what else the Vistani told me about them?"_

_Ayla shook her head._

_"They told me that otters love their families. They hold hands while they sleep on the surface of the water so that they don't get lost, and the babies sleep on their mama's bellies."_

_"Woah."_

_"Yeah, woah. So I made this for you." He poked her nose softly with his finger and she giggled. "You can put whatever you want in it. You can put important things in it, things you value and want to keep safe, or-"_

_"Can I put charcoal in it?" She bounced up in excitement, nearly hitting her father's chin with the top of her head._

_"I... yes, you can put charcoal in it, little one."_

Ayla smiled at the surfacing memory, a memory of happier times, when her father still smiled with sincerity.

 _Father. I should clean up before he gets home._ She thought, seeing how dirt clung to the hem of her dress.

Even with the thought in her head, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Not yet. Instead, she turned her gaze to the perpetually shrouded sky, overcast with mist blocking her view, and wondered what the sun looked like. Did it have a soft glow like the tiny flame of a candle, or was it more akin to the radiance of a cooking fire? Did it's brilliance burn or did it feel like drinking from a cup of warm milk? Was it large up in the lonely sky? The stories described it in different ways, and Ayla was never quite certain which story to believe. Did the sun change from day to day?

The crackle of footsteps on gravel sounded from around the corner of the house and Ayla tensed, grasping the wooden box like a lifeline. The crackle became thuds, footsteps on grass and dirt, and before she knew it she could see him out of the corner of her eyes. She tried to relax her fingers, turning her gaze to the box, and tried to appear nonchalant. She was just inspecting the box, caring for an important item. She used a bit of the fabric of her dress to scrub at the surface of the box. Yes, that was something he would approve of.

"Ayla, you have charcoal all over your face again." Her father said as he moved and sat beside her. She focused on the box. What would her father be like today?

He pulled a torn cloth from his pocket and handed it to her before shifting his seating on the grass and pulling a small rock out from under him. He turned it over in his hand. His motions were relaxed, perhaps he would remain so throughout the day.

Ayla left her ministrations of the box, focusing on her face instead. "Thank you, father." She wiped at her face, though, without a mirror, she was uncertain if she was accomplishing anything.

A raven flew above them and let out a loud caw that caused Danut to curse and instinctively cover his ears. Unlike Ayla, who, moments before, had gazed up at the sky with wonder and curiosity in her eyes, her father draped an arm across his face, sheltering himself from the soft remnants of light filtering through the clouds.

It was several minutes, several tense minutes, before he spoke again.

"When you were a kid, I always found you with your face a mess like that. I guess getting older didn't change much."

Ayla did not respond. She didn't know what to say. Should she apologize for not being proper and keeping herself clean? Should she smile and laugh and join in reminiscing?

No, it was much easier to stay quiet.

"Mr. Antonovic is telling stories tonight." He paused and she could see that he'd turned toward her, could feel his eyes on her. She began to panic. What did he want from her? He was looking for something, some answer, the right answer.

_I don't know what the right answer is._

"That's nice. I didn't know he was still doing that." She was gripping the box tightly again. Her knuckles were white.

"Do you want to go?"

"With you?"

"Yeah. I know you're old enough to be taking your own kids now, but I thought..." He lowered his hand from his eyes, squinting at the light and scratching at the back of his head. Ayla looked at him then, really looked at him. He was a mess. Hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, clothes wrinkled with stains, and his skin was pale and clammy. A sweat was forming on his brow despite a slight chill in the air.

_He ran out of drink, then._

"I just thought it could be fun." He shrugged, but she could see it now. The tension in his shoulders and the way he picked at the grass with one of his hands.

He was trying. Mists take her but he was _trying._

A voice inside her, the logical voice, told her that it didn't matter. She'd seen him try before, she'd seen him try ever since her mother left, she'd seen him try for most of her childhood and all of her adult life.

He would try.

He would fail.

While Ayla wasn’t exactly certain what she wanted in life, be it a family of her own, a job she loves, or something more, she did know that she wanted to feel safe. She didn’t want to have to worry about saying the wrong thing or doing something the wrong way. She wanted a place she could relax, and, unfortunately, she knew that the home she grew up in would never be that place for her. 

And yet, Ayla would stay right there beside her father because if she didn't, who would? She could not bear the thought of her father withering away without anyone who cared for him, alone in a cold and hateful world, haunted by memories of his wife. So she chose to stay.

"That would be wonderful, father." She gave him a small smile, meeting his eyes before looking back down at the box in her hands. She let go of it, rubbing at the muscles in her hands in an attempt to calm them.

He nodded, but did not stand.

"Should I make something to bring?" She said. Hope wormed its way into her heart no matter how hard she tried to force it out. Maybe this would be the time he succeeded. Maybe all he needed was her to believe in him, maybe if she worked just a little harder, filled the silence a little longer, he would get better.

"I think they're making a big stew. Maybe bring a head of cabbage or two," Her father stood, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "No one else's had any luck with it this year. Wake me up before it gets dark and we'll go together. I need to take a nap." He moved toward the house, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Ayla pushed the breath from her lungs in a heavy sigh, closing her eyes, counting to ten and imagining the tension flowing from her body, draining from her head and down her arms and legs, tickling her fingers as she let it sink into the ground around her. Her shoulders relaxed. Tonight would be fun, she would make sure that was true. Maybe, if she reminded her father of how things used to be, how happy they once were, then just maybe they could live that way again.

Ayla rapped her knuckles softly on her father’s bedroom door, a pail of warm water in her off hand.

“Father? It’s nearing dusk.” She heard him groan followed by a loud thump and her hand shot to the doorknob. He could be hurt, or maybe someone was breaking in, or maybe he was choking, or-

He cursed. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Fell off my damned bed.” She let her arm fall back to her side.

“I’ve warmed some water in a pail for you to clean up with. I’m leaving it here for you.” She waited for some sort of response, but heard none. “I spoke with Mr. Antonovic a bit ago; he asked me to bring the cabbage so they can add it to the stew.” He was still silent. Ayla debated peeking her head in the door to see if he had fallen asleep again, but his silence had her doubting. He’d been so talkative earlier. Was she wrong in her assumption that he’d run out of drink? But maybe he just needed rest.

“I’ll… I’ll meet you in town, if you’re feeling well enough, father.”

She set the pail down, frowning, hoping her father was alright, and sent a quick prayer to the Morning Lord to give her father strength. She wasn’t certain what to do anymore, the hope she’d felt earlier beginning to fade. Before she lost her courage, she grabbed her carrying bag and wrapped her mother’s scarf about her head, tucking the ends into her coat, and made her way out the door.

It was a short walk to the center of town. Krezk was the smallest town in the valley; compared to Vallaki’s population, it was just a small neighborhood. But it was home. She helped prepare and add the cabbage to the stew and smiled at those around her. As she chopped and washed the vegetable, Mr. Antonovic, leaning heavily on his walking stick, made his way over. He put a hand on her shoulder, patting it for a moment, before leaning forward on the table that had been brought out.

"It's good to see you here, Ayla." Mr. Antonovic said. "You haven’t been in town much, as of late."

"Yes, I've been busy... keeping the house. Could you pass me that bowl of carrots?" Ayla gestured with the knife before bringing it down on another section of the cabbage. "Mathilda was working on them, but I think she had to go check on her boys at home."

"Ah, yes. They are always getting into trouble." He passed the bowl, and Ayla was grateful for the change in topic. “Any particular requests for stories tonight?”

“You always did tell the story about the sun and the moon very well. If… if it’s not too much trouble, could you tell that one?” Her hand hovered over the cutting board, gripping the knife.

Mr. Antonovic beamed at her. “Of course, my dear. I’m going to go refresh my memory on that one, and rest these old bones a bit.” He patted her back before stretching his back and hobbling away.

Livius, a reclusive man that usually kept to himself, began plucking at the strings of a lyre, the harmonic notes curling up into the air alongside the smoke of a growing fire, reaching up to meet the moon as the hazy light of the sun traveled closer to the horizon. Ayla was always impressed by how his music drew everyone out, calming and soothing them, and even more impressed with how he somehow managed to draw himself out of his shell as well.

Mathilda made her way back, a tall and plump woman with hair graying at the temples and sharp eyes. She clucked her tongue as she approached, grabbing some carrots and a knife of her own to join in the labor.

“Mark my words, Ayla, those boys will be the death of me one day.” She brought the knife down hard on the carrots, a piece flying off the table onto the ground. “I tell them to go out and play, and they sit still. I tell them to sit still, and they run around like chickens without a head.”

“What trouble did they get into this time?” Ayla asked, chopping her pile of vegetables much more gently.

“Oh, they thought it would be a right joy to let the dog out in the middle of the night and run amuck in town. They woke up near half the town with their antics, and the dumb dog managed to wiggle it’s way into Bogan’s smokehouse.” She shook her head. “Now I’m gonna have to go without a husband for a week while he goes and helps hunt to replace the damaged meat.”

“You’re a good mother, Mathilda. They’ll learn, I’m sure of it.” Ayla smiled at her, but Mathilda squinted her eyes and began gesturing with her knife, causing Ayla to take a step back.

“Shouldn’t you be having children of your own by now? When are you going to settle down? I happen to know for a fact that there are several young men in Krezk that fancy you.”

A blush crept onto Ayla’s cheeks and she instinctively pulled at her scarf, trying to hide from the other woman’s gaze.

“Mathilda, is this really the best time to talk about this?”

“You bet your tush it is. I’ve known you since you were just a wee little kid, and I always saw you looking up to your parents. You smile any time I talk about my boys. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you envy me. Don’t you want a family of your own?”

_If I start a family of my own, will I fail them too, will it end up as broken as this one?_

“No, I… “ She sighed. “It’s more complicated than that, Tilda, I-”

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t go tryin’ to butter me up by using my nickname.” Mathilda returned her attention to the meal preparations. “Didn’t Marek offer marriage to you just a few months ago, and you turned him down?”

Ayla’s hand froze above the cutting board. This was the first she’d heard of any marriage proposal.

“You must have heard wrong, Tilda. I’m not sure Marek would have- I just haven’t heard anything myself.” Her brows furrowed, and the two of them worked in silence for several moments.

“He asked your father for your hand, didn’t he?” Mathilda’s voice was quiet, brought lower so the din of conversation around them would drown their conversation out.

“I don’t know.”

She sighed. “That’s a yes then.”

How could he do something like that, take the choice from her?

_It doesn’t matter. I would have said no anyway._

“Listen, Ayla,” Mathilda continued. “If… If you ever need anything - an extra hand or… or a place to stay-”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Marriage could be good for you, dear.”

Marry, leave her father, watch him from a distance fall further and further into a bottle, not taking care of the garden, the house, or himself? No, marriage wasn’t an option for her, not right now.

“He’s been asking for wine in trade for furniture commissions, you know.”

Of course he was. Why had Ayla thought he would be better than that? A small part of her wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that he wouldn’t put his addiction before the well-being of the household, but a larger part of her, an angry and resigned part of her knew it was true.

Setting the knife down rather suddenly, Ayla turned to face the older woman. “Mathilda, I really don’t want to talk about it any longer and I would appreciate it if you respected that.”

Mathilda blinked, then nodded. “Of course, dear.”

The two worked in relative silence for a while, eventually moving to the cooking fire and putting all the ingredients together in a big cauldron sitting atop it. The hazy light of the sun disappeared, more people gathered, and her father did not appear.

Should she have stayed home to care for him?

“Speak of the devil.” Mathilda said. “I’m gonna make myself scarce.”

Was her father here finally? How was he? Ayla couldn’t find him as she scanned the small gathering and-

Oh. It was Marek approaching, not her father; she could see his mop of curly hair, a dirty blonde unlike the darker hair colors so common in Barovia. It had always made him stand out, but not as much as the warm smile he always gave her. He opened his mouth as he approached to speak, but Ayla spoke first.

“Would you like the first bowl?” She picked up a dish and ladle. “It should be ready now.”

“Oh, um, yeah, that would be nice.” Marek rubbed at the back of his neck as he waited for her to serve him a bowl, clearing his throat to fill the silence. She noticed how he shifted from foot to foot and glanced around at anything but her, gaze shifting and readjusting. She handed him a bowl.

“Thanks, Ayla.”

“Of course.” He made eye contact and finally held it, holding the bowl in front of him, wooden spoon in his hand, but making no move to eat it.

“How’s the soup?” She prodded.

“What? Oh!” He shoveled several spoonfuls in his mouth, offering praise and reassurance that the soup was great. “Did you grow the carrots yourself?”

“No, actually, I think Mathilda brought those.” She clasped her hands in front of her and cocked her head at Marek. They’d known each other for a long time, though he was a year younger, and he’d always been easy to tease. It had been a while since she’d just spoken or spent any significant amount of time with him, and this return to what used to be was calming her.

“Oh, uh, well, it’s cooked perfectly.” He gave another awkward smile, and his gaze kept shifting around again.

“I grew the cabbage, though.” She said.

Marek turned back to her, beaming. “The cabbage is my favorite part of it.”

Movement behind him caught Ayla’s attention, and she looked over his shoulder to see Mathilda waving her arms vigorously. She gave Ayla two big thumbs up and a big grin.

“Is something wrong?” Marek frowned and turned to see what she was looking at, Mathilda hurriedly dropping her hands and busying herself with something unimportant.

“Oh it’s nothing Marek,” Ayla couldn’t stop herself from chuckling as she touched his shoulder lightly, turning him back to face her. He met her eyes.

“You have such a beautiful laugh, Ayla.” He looked at her with such fondness, and when had his shoulders lost all their tension? 

Yes, she could see it in his eyes. He did fancy her, and she hadn’t even realized it. When had that happened? When had he gone and grown up to the point he wanted to start a family with her? She felt so far behind. Marriage wasn’t an option for her, it couldn’t be.

Could it?

“It, um… it looks like Mr. Antonovic is almost ready.” She looked away from Marek. “I’m going to go save a seat for my father.”

“Is he coming tonight?”

“I-” Ayla sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“You can sit with me, if you like of course.” He fiddled with the now empty bowl in his hands, nearly dropping the spoon, and her lips pressed into a line. She liked Marek, though a bit awkward, he was sweet and always wanted to make her smile. Maybe she could feel safe with him?

If they started a family, would he change years down the line, become a bitter shell of his former self, just like her father had? Ayla wasn’t certain if she would be able to handle that. No, she couldn’t see herself marrying, not yet at least, and according to Mathilda, her father had turned him down once already. No point in leading Marek on, he didn’t deserve to be rejected twice.

“No, that’s alright Marek, thank you though.” She shook her head, grabbing a bowl of the stew for herself. “Maybe I’ll see you around town?”

“Yeah, that would be great.” She couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders slumped as she left. Balancing her bowl in one hand, Ayla found a couple chairs that had been brought out for all to use and settled down near the larger fire in the town square.

Once, soon after Ayla’s mother had left, Mr. Antonovic had told her that a good story could transport the soul, if only for a little bit. They could take you to brighter places, to sad places, to mysterious places, to angry places, and to places filled with love and hope. That sounded like a wonderful thing to Ayla. So she closed her eyes, focusing on the crackling of the burning logs, on sounds of the wind rustling through leaves and rippling clothes, scarves, and shawls, and on the story.

“I tell a story from many, many years ago, when the sky was as clear as the Ivlis river and the water of the Tser Falls.” Ayla had not been to either place, but she tried to imagine it, she tried to listen to the rushing water as it crashed over rocks and revealed a whole world beneath its surface.

Mr. Antonovic continued. “Back then, you could always see the sun. It brought warmth and light, and under its guidance, plants grew aplenty. Whereas our crops are shriveled and discolored, vegetables and fruits under the sun grew more vibrantly. The sun was admired; the daylight delighted in.” She could feel the warmth of the fire and imagined that heat came from above. She wanted to reach her arms wide and feel the light on her skin.

“Based on my words, you would think we do not have much in common with these people of the past.” Ayla found herself nodding, eyes still closed, and realized how she envied her ancestors. What would the air feel like when it lacked the whispers of past lives?

“However, that is not true. Like us, they feared the night and all it hid. Here in Krezk, we can be safe in our homes and in our numbers. But past the line of trees, down the hill and along the Old Svalich road? No, we fear the dangers that darkness conceals.” A chill blew through, seemingly chasing the words and events of the story. Ayla shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

“The moon was the ruler of the dark, sitting up in the night sky.” She could hear a change in Mr. Antonovic’s voice; it held a somber quality now, a sense of melancholy, and it saddened her as well. He cleared his throat before continuing. “It was so separate, so opposite from everything that the sun was, yet they still saw each other for a brief moment at dawn and dusk, and, as his light fell upon the moon, he saw how she could glow. The sun, he was intrigued by the moon and her quiet loneliness. She told him a secret. She envied the sun, she longed to be seen, to be known as he was, to be admired by the people, but they couldn’t see her. And they feared the night.”

Ayla opened her eyes, arms still wrapped around herself, and she looked at the fire. Regardless of how many people may greet her, or ask if she’s alright, ask if she needs help, she couldn’t help but feel that the warmth of the fire was her only companion. It did not judge, it did not worry. It merely burned.

Mr. Antonovic poked at the logs with the end of his staff, his voice quiet as he spoke next. “He was sad, the sun was.” He wasn’t so quiet she couldn’t hear, instead, his voice was just low enough it persuaded you to lean in and hang on every word.

“He’d fallen in love with the moon, you see, but their fates conflicted. What could he possibly do for her, how could he show the world just how beautiful she was? One day, the sun had an idea. When the moon rose, his light shining upon her, he gave her the light, gave her his own breath. She did not understand, but once the sun had set with a smile upon his face, she realized that she was glowing even in the darkness. She was glowing in the immeasurable depth of the night sky.” Mr. Antonovic stood, beginning to walk around the fire slowly.

“He would never truly be with her, could never truly see her beauty, for he had to set every day, and still he gave his breath for her so that she might know peace and happiness.” He gave Ayla a wink, looking at her from between the flames of the fire.

A moth flew past, pulling her attention away from Mr. Antonovic’s gaze. She watched it flutter towards the fire, drawn in by the warmth and energy just as she was drawn to the story. The risk of tragedy held her in suspense. Would it realize the danger before it was too late, or would that beauty be it’s demise? As she held her breath it reached the point of no return, its wings catching, alighting, beautifully bright. Its life was extinguished and its ashes fell, mingling with the dirt. For a brief moment, it had been so beautiful, engulfed by warmth.

Mr. Antonovic turned his gaze upward. “I do not know if she still glows up there, beyond the mist, beyond the clouds, beyond Barovia. But I do know that she is loved.”

Someone sat down in a chair beside Ayla, and she jumped, having been engrossed in the stories. She almost spilled the bowl of stew she held. It had grown cold in her lap. She turned, realizing it was her father, and… and he wore clean clothes. His hair was damp, brushed back, and the circles under his eyes weren’t as prominent. He seemed more relaxed, and certainly more put together than he had been in ages. His eyes were so warm, so brown, not like mud, but like the crust of freshly baked bread. She searched his eyes, not certain what she was looking for.

“I got somethin’ for you.” He handed her a steaming cup and she peered in it. Warm milk. A favorite of hers as a child.

“Thank you, father.” She returned his smile.

They sat for a few minutes, listening to Mr. Antonovic telling another story, before Ayla spoke up again. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.” She kept her eyes forward, but out of the corner of her eye, he leaned in, like he was telling a secret.

“Well, I was hesitant, but I never could resist your cooking.” He shifted back, hands in his lap, looking at the flames. Ayla just stared forward, trying to focus on the story being told, but she could help but noticed how her father shivered against the cold. He moved his chair forward slightly, closer to the fire. Sitting a bit in front of her now, she could see him sweating, yet he leaned into the warmth of the flame. She noticed he kept glancing around, eyes shifting between the flame, the people, and her. He definitely kept glancing at Ayla, a frown deepening in his brows each time he did. 

Ayla wondered if he was thinking of drinking, about her, or if something else was bothering him. She could ignore it, enjoy the rest of her evening in relative peace. But he seemed so lonely, so lost, wiping sweat from his brow yet continuously leaning into the heat of the flame, knee bouncing nervously, eyes flitting and arms shaking. 

Ayla took a deep breath and scooted her own chair forward. “What’s wrong, father? You seem distracted.”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m just- I, um.” He ran his hand across his face. “I’m just cold.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

She stared at him. He glanced over, away, and over again before sighing.

“It’s nothing, Ayla. Don’t you always say that Antonovic’s stories can give you chills?” He smiled and bumped her side with his elbow. “He’s just given me the chills, is all.” 

Ayla turned her attention back to the flames.

“Did Mathilda give you any trouble?” Her father said.

“No, why do you ask?” Ayla frowned.

“Cause she keeps looking at you.”

Ayla gave him only a shrug, not wanting to dwell on her earlier conversation with Mathilda, and so she and her father sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m gonna get myself a bowl of that stew. It smells great.” Her father said, giving Ayla a soft kiss on the top of her head, before standing and walking away. Some of the townsfolk, those not sitting at the fire, greeted him as he headed to the food. He seemed well, so Ayla took a deep breath and tried not to worry about him.

It was a long time before he returned. Livius spoke up and asked for song requests. It was long enough that a Mr. Antonovic changed stories again. Long enough that Ayla began scanning the area looking for him. He was nowhere to be seen. It was long enough that someone had to add more logs to the fire to keep it burning, and long enough for worry to find its way into Ayla’s fears once again. Images of him passed out in a ditch, or lost after wandering off in the woods, or drowning in his own vomit flashed through her mind. But, no. He was fine, he was sober, she didn’t have to worry like that. Not right now.

Just as the thoughts and fears became too much to bear, there he was, plopping down in his chair far from gracefully. It wobbled and he caught himself, grabbing the back of Ayla’s chair to steady himself. Ayla’s pulse began to quicken.

_He lost his balance, that’s all. It happens to everyone._

He draped his arm across her shoulder, mumbling something to himself, and leaned his head against her own. It was a fond motion, one that reminded her of when she was a child, and-

And his breath smelled of wine.

A familiar tightness grabbed at Ayla, her throat closing and her heart hurting.

Untangling him from her was easier said than done, and was not a gentle process. He kept trying to say something, but he was quiet and she couldn’t quite pluck the words from the air. She tried to remove his arm, gently at first, grabbing his wrist and lifting, but he frowned and slumped over her, nearly knocking her from her chair.

“Ay- Ayla, you have to be more careful!” He said in a voice that mimicked a whisper but held more in common with a yell. Ayla could feel eyes on them.

“Father, please just sit down, I’ll get you some water and-”

“Water’s boring.” He said with a sloppy grin, but complied and leaned back in his chair. He rocked back and forth in the chair, just a little.

“You’re going to fall, father.” Ayla said quietly.

“Huh? Ayla you’re being really quiet, I can’t hear you.” He reached to pat at her shoulder, missed, hit his knuckles on her chair, and cursed.

“We…” She sighed. “We should go home, father.” 

“What? Why? You- you wanted to come here, right?” He fumbled with something in his coat as he spoke, getting louder as he did so. He pulled a small waterskin out, uncorked it, and looked her in the eyes as he took a long pull from the liquid. She knew it wasn’t water. This could go several ways. They could stay, he could drink more and make more of a fool of himself. She could get angry, fight with him, and he would likely storm off, furious. Or, she could stoke his sense of pride and make him think he was the hero. He still held her gaze, daring her to challenge him.

Ayla found Mathilda’s gaze a few seats down, a look of pity and worry on the older woman’s face. Taking a deep breath, Ayla stood, ignoring the looks of pity and scorn, and offered her hand to her father.

“Yes, I’m just not feeling very well, father. Could we go home, please? I don’t want to walk alone.” She wrapped her arms around herself, running her hands up and down her arms to chase off a chill she didn’t really feel.

His face softened and he looked down at the waterskin in his hands. He corked it, shoved it back in a pocket, and unsteadily made his way to his feet. He used her shoulder to get his balance back and burped. Ayla cringed. She could see Marek looking at them now, his face riddled with concern and his body on the edge of his seat.

Her father stared at his feet, arms out beside him like a bird learning to fly, and carefully took a step forward. Step landing soundly, he lowered his arms and took another more confident step. Then another. Then another. But he certainly wasn’t going in a straight line, moving diagonally like a trained horse, making his way closer and closer to the fire. Ayla hurried behind him, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt to guide him, but he shrugged her off. He spun on his heel, stumbling again as he pointed at her. Well, pointed in her general direction, eyes focusing on open air before correcting himself.

“I can walk myself, woman.” 

The movements of an unruly and green horse were easier to predict than her father’s mood while drunk, and Ayla had not gotten any better at it. 

This was a mistake. She knew it as she followed him, as he nearly knocked someone over in their chair, as the whispers started around her, as the pitying glances burrowed into her skin. She should have stayed at home, should have encouraged her father to stay home, encouraged him to do anything but go out around people like this. They all knew, she could feel their judging eyes taking in the sad sight, and all Ayla wanted to do was get away. She wanted to protect her father from them. Where had he even gotten the wine? Had it been there the whole time, sitting on the tables, and she hadn’t even noticed it?

_It… it wasn’t he that failed this time. I should have seen it, I should have known there would be wine here, I should have acted quicker I should have-_

She shoved the thoughts down, taking a deep breath as her father pulled the waterskin out in front of her. Her fingertips moved of their own accord, tracing the pattern on the back of her hand. A strange sea critter, known for its family values, curled up amidst the plants and the water.

Her father stopped, bending over with his hands on his knees and breathing deeply.

She traced the curve of the creatures back and tail reaching up to meet its head again.

Feet crunched on the gravel as he stood and continued on his way. Except he kept taking wrong turns, shushing Ayla when she tried to correct him, declaring they were home then blinking indignantly at the offending buildings when he realized they weren’t home.

The stems of the curling plants and the lines of the rolling waves were next. She repeated the pattern.

Finally arriving home, her father fiddled with the door handle, becoming more and more aggravated as he failed to open it. He kept trying to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Ayla! Why in god’s name did you lock me out?” He huffed, face red and fists clenching. Face expressionless, she calmly stood beside him and turned the doorknob the correct way and pushed it open. He blinked at it, and she mentally prepared herself for another accusatory outburst. Instead, he laughed, a joyous laugh, and rubbed at the back of his head ashamedly.

He stepped forward, and slammed his shoulder right into the door frame, hard, and fell forward into the house. He rolled on his back, cursing at the ceiling and grasping his shoulder.

Face expressionless, Ayla put an arm under his good shoulder and helped lift him to his feet. At least he’d waited for most of the antics until they’d gotten home. Yet she couldn’t help but feel that if she’d only chosen seats farther back, then everyone in the village wouldn’t have had front row seats to another of her father’s… lapses. 

Holding him up now, she could hear the faint click and clang of glass on glass coming from her father’s pockets. He draped an arm over her now, as he had earlier, and tears began welling up in his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you Ala-Ailya-” He slurred her name, and she hated the sound of it.

“I don’t deserve you Ay.” He said. She ignored him and led him to one of the kitchen chairs. She ignored his cries and screams at the sky at having taken his wife from him.

“Why does the world-” He sniffled. “I don’t know why it hates us, Ay.”

_Is my two syllable name too difficult for you, father?_

She let him drop into the chair, hard, but he just continued sobbing, arms grasping at her, trying to draw her into a bear hug. But she would have none of it. Why did he get to be so upset at their circumstances, why did he get to have the mental breakdowns while all the household responsibilities fell on her? It wasn’t fair.

Finally she was able to untangle herself from him. An angry part of her wished she had dropped him to the floor in a heap instead of the chair. That opportunity had passed, but the anger rising in her thought of a better opportunity. She grabbed in the pockets of his coat, pulling free several small, hastily-filled bottles of wine, drips of the sticky, sweet liquid staining the outside of the glass.

“What’re you doing?” He said, slumping back in the chair, arms hanging off the sides, and hiccuped.

She did not respond. How dare he keep doing this, over and over again? How dare he let her hope, remind her of better times, then make a fool of himself in front of all the townspeople? It was unending, the strife relentless and the struggle exhausting. All Ayla wanted was for him to be safe and happy and he… and he couldn’t even do that for her.

The wine spilled from one of the bottles as Ayla upended it through a window. 

That wasn’t all though. She wanted to be happy, too. He was her father, it was his responsibility to help her, to help her start a life of her own, and yet he was purposefully ripping any possibility of stability from her. She thought of Marek, of a possible betrothal that her father had denied and for what reason?

 _Could it be my fault?_ She couldn’t stop the thought from invading her mind as she emptied the next bottle. Maybe if she just did a better job, took care of him more closely, then maybe he wouldn’t keep doing this. Work harder, that was what she had to do. Right?

“Ay, what…” He leaned forward, groaning, putting his head near his knees, likely to stop the room from spinning. “Ay, I asked you a question.” He still stared at the floor. She emptied the next bottle, furious at it for tempting her father so. She twirled it in her hand. Small, meant to be concealed easily. How many did he have? She threw it out the window, letting it shatter on the ground, before grabbing another. The anger drowned out her sorrow and she embraced it, not bothering to uncork this bottle, and throwing it to the ground beside the other. The shards mingled with the red wine, running between rocks and blades of dark grass, light from the candle of a street lantern glinting off the pool.

He was there suddenly. She hadn’t heard him approach and he grabbed at her wrist, yanking her backward, body twisting. White hot pain erupted in her shoulder and she gasped for air, hardly able to breath, let alone scream. She clutched at her arm, falling to her knees, but her father did not let go. She sat there, partially dangling and hot tears beginning to fall.

“What in the nine hells were you thinking!” There was no warmth in his eyes, only fury, and she found her own anger draining away.

His eyes terrified her. They held an anger, a fury at the world that burned so brightly it forced Ayla to confront all the other times he’d painted her skin with purple and black.

“I don’t understand Ayla.” His eyes changed, his voice sober yet not, for she could not believe he would do this if in his right mind. He looked so hurt. “Why are you doing this to me? After everything we’ve been through, I just-” He took a shaky breath but did not release his grip. The pain in her shoulder had lessened, thankfully, and she hoped that meant he hadn’t hurt her too badly. 

“I need an escape, sometimes. And you’re taking even that from me?” He rifled through a couple of his pockets and Ayla prayed she had found the few he managed to hide. But she was wrong. He pulled another from a pocket, pulled the cork free with his teeth, and took a long swig. She whimpered, trying to shift her weight and get back on her feet so that maybe this pain would go away, she couldn’t think with it, she couldn’t-

He pulled at her again, causing her to tumble sideways and fall to her hip on the floor. She cried out as her shoulder pulled in just the wrong way. Hand shaking, Ayla began tracing a sea otter on the small spot of skin below her collarbones.

He scoffed at her. “Whining like a little girl while I’m here suffering. Suffering every day. And for what? An ungrateful daughter.” He released his grasp and Ayla scurried away, clutching her arm to her chest but that hurt, too.

Turning away, polishing off the next bottle, Ayla wondered if she’d ever truly know her father again.

“Sometimes, I can’t even bear to look at you, Ay. Look too much like your mom.” He did not turn to look at her. “Get out of my sight.

Ayla wrapped her arms around herself, adjusting her scarf, and left the house without a word. She wasn’t certain where she was going, but she needed to get away. Get away from that home that held nothing but nightmares and memories, get away from her father’s selfishness.

_I’m suffering, too._

Mind focused on her steps, Ayla breathed through the pain of her shoulder, feeling more alone than she ever had, and looked up at the dark sky, wondering if the moon was a carefully carved lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this a day late, sorry! Realized I had to change a couple small things before posting and did not have the energy yesterday. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I want to thank my writing group for their invaluable help and encouragement: dispatchwithlove, hibbidyhai, StarSock9, and ST_Le.
> 
> I would also like to thank OrangeWrites, my beta, for helping me polish this chapter and find any mistakes I missed!


	3. Dislocation

The night was cold, the chill biting at Ayla's face, the oppressive loneliness of the dark wrapping its arms around her in a mocking embrace, as Ayla’s feet carried her to nowhere in particular. No lanterns were lit along the road, all the window shutters closed to the horrors of the night, the light of candles in the windowsills shining between the boards casting long shadows before her. Any movement or jolt caused her wrist to scream at her in pain, and the sensation dulled her mind. In her state, the shadows and darkness appeared to reach and grab at her feet, at her clothes, at her body. She picked up her pace.

Her breathing was getting out of control, she was cold but she couldn’t stop sweating and it reminded her so much of her father’s symptoms and… and she was panicking. Pausing between two homes, she took deep, steadying breaths, focusing on the sensation of air moving from her lips to her lungs.

When she was young, she’d fallen and scraped her knee and it bled profusely. In her panic, she wouldn’t even let her mother near.

“Breath with me, darling. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It chases the fear away, I promise.” Her mother had told her.

Ayla followed that advice, back leaning against the wooden walls of a home. It took a few minutes, but her breathing calmed, though she wasn’t certain if it was the breathing technique or the thought of her mother that did it.

Pushing any and all emotion down, Ayla rolled the sleeve of her dress up. This jostled her wrist further, but she ground her teeth and fought through the pain. She lifted her arm and inspected the wrist. It was swollen and red - she knew it would bruise - and… and a few of her fingers were starting to feel numb and tingly. She could move them, so that was a good sign, at least, but turning the wrist itself was a painful experience. 

Her scarf had been thrown over her shoulders, Ayla not having bothered to wrap it about it her head, and she grabbed it, using it as a wrap around the wrist. The area was tender, but after wrapping it tightly and tucking the fabric into itself, movement of the appendage was reduced and provided some semblance of relief. She pulled herself onto the empty street and kept walking. 

She did not know where she was going, only that she didn’t want to be home. So she walked forward in a daze, trying not to think.

A door sounded to her right, followed by warm light filling the street. She ducked to the side, squeezing against the side of another home. The light crept around the corner of the building, stretching past her and touching the toes of her boots. She held her breath.

“-he was acting? It’s just shameful, making a fool of himself like that.” The voice belonged to Zondra, a woman not much older than Ayla herself. Though she only caught the latter half of the statement, Ayla’s stomach dropped. They were talking about him, about her father. Was everyone gossiping about him?

She heard water splash across the way. Throwing out dishwater, perhaps? Ayla didn’t catch the response from a voice inside Zondra’s home.

“Oh, that is no excuse, and you know it-” Her voice was cut off by the door slamming. Ayla reached her good hand up to run it across her face and noticed it was shaking. She needed help, but she couldn’t bear to hear a lecture about how horrible her father was.

Ayla did the only thing she could think to do. Keep walking. She knew she would end up looping around and back in front of her home, but she had some time before that happened. Time to think - though she dreaded doing so, instead preferring the numbness the night and cold air was providing - time to figure out where she was going or who was going to help her.

Except Ayla found herself zoning out, coherent thought leaving her with every monotonous step. She blamed the crickets and their incessant chirping.

“Ayla?” Marek called out from beside a house and she looked up, blinking and scanning her surroundings. She hadn’t realized where she was and hadn’t heard Marek. He sat in a patch of grass leaning up against his home but he stood when he saw her. Ayla took a step back.

“Are you alright?” He said and she hated how he was looking at her, like she was an injured animal that needed to be approached with caution. Marek glanced down. Ayla put her hands behind her back, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I’m fine.” She smiled at him. Did it look as fake as it felt? “I’m just going for a walk.”

He nodded slowly and approached her. He was wearing simple cotton trousers and a shirt, night clothes, and she found herself looking away.

“You’re not wearing your scarf. Are you cold? Do you want to come in?” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he spoke. Her mind screamed at her to tell him, to say that she wasn’t fine, to ask for help. She opened her mouth to follow through, to admit that everything was _not okay_ and-

“No, thank you. I appreciate it, but I’m fine, really.” The words left her mouth seemingly of their own volition and she cursed herself. Why was it so hard, when she’d admitted to herself just a few minutes ago that she needed help?

Ayla moved past him quickly, putting her arms back in front of her so that he would not see how she’d wrapped her wrist. But he jogged ahead, moving to stand before her, blocking her path.

“I don’t mean to call a lady out like this, but…” He hesitated and frowned. “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

What to say to that? If she continued denying, he certainly wouldn’t believe her nor would he leave her be. She could tell him. She could ask for help. Maybe she could even ask him if he would still marry her, take her away from the horrible building that was no longer her home so that she could just… feel safe for once. 

“Because I am.” Ayla said. Perhaps baby steps were better here. Best… best not to jump to conclusions.

Marek blinked and almost took a step back, apparently not expecting an honest answer.

“Can I help?”

“I don’t know.” She blinked. Being that honest was not her intention, the words had just slipped from her mouth without her permission. Surprise was evident in his posture as well as he took a step back. Ayla used it as an opportunity to start walking again. Maybe she could outwalk her doubt, as well.

He took up a position at her side thankfully her uninjured side, but surely he’d noticed the wrappings and how she was cradling her arm now. The pain was intense and Ayla was finding it difficult to ignore.

“Okay. Where are you headed?”

Ayla blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. “Mathilda.”

He nodded, accepting the answer. “I’ll walk you.”

This was becoming overwhelming, panic rising in her chest. Why had she said Mathilda? Not only would Marek be privy to her injury, so would Mathilda, her husband Nikolai, possibly even her kids. The situation was spiraling out of control. One person, maybe one person was fine, but not five.

She stopped. Marek followed suit but did not speak. She stared at the ground. His feet shifted from side to side, the gravel crackling beneath him.

“I-” She stopped. What to say? He would ask how she was injured, could she say she’d fallen, or been spooked by an animal, or been attacked? No, that wasn’t feasible.

Marek stepped in front of her, tilting his head to try and meet her eyes.

“Ayla, it’s okay. I can help.”

She met his eyes. They were so blue, not holding any of the harshness or anger her father’s eyes did.

“Let me take a look.” He said. 

She shook her head, stepping back. “No, someone will see, I don’t want to start any more rumors, I should really just be on my way…”

“No one else has to know. My folks are settling into bed by now, so we can sneak you in the back door.”

She did not respond. Marek’s brows furrowed and he gently reached down, taking her uninjured hand in his own.

“I can help you.” He said, voice quiet. Ayla looked away from him, back to the twisted shadows around her, eyes watering from the pain on her wrist.

She nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

Ayla sat on the edge of Marek’s bed in his small room. He kneeled before her, first unwrapping her scarf then taking her arm gently in his hand to inspect her wrist. 

“Can you move your fingers at all?” Marek said as he ran his fingers along the skin, putting slight pressure in different spots. It was painful, and Ayla wasn’t certain what the purpose was.

She nodded. “I can. But it hurts my wrist. And some of my fingers are going numb.”

“I think it’s dislocated. That means there could be a break in one of your bones, but I don’t feel any. I can put it back into place; Nikolai has books on it and he taught me how to do something similar with the animals he treats. Just last week, one of Zondra’s sows was limping and-”

“Nikolai has books?” Ayla asked, his story of pigs not doing much to distract her from the pain. 

“Lots of them. Says he got them from his mom several years ago.” Marek hit a particularly sensitive spot of skin and Ayla winced. “Sorry.” He proceeded more gently.

“Did he say how his mom got all the books?”

He shook his head. “The way he spoke of her, it sounded like she’s… no longer living.” He stood and walked to a set of drawers at the end of his bed. He pulled out a small, clean cloth and a bottle before kneeling again. A wine bottle. Her eyes locked on it.

“Listen, I know you aren’t really a fan of alcohol, but this is going to hurt and I don’t have any of the herbs I’d need to dull the pain. I’d have to go to Nikolai for that. So you have a few options. I can go get the herbs and make you a tea, you can drink some wine, or we can try this with neither.” He set the bottle down. “I leave it up to you.”

Her eyes still followed the bottle. He’d just had it in a drawer. Was there more, did he drink often, did he hide it?

“Um. Do you drink often, Marek?” She tried to sound calm, but her breathing was quickening already. If he drank, then he could end up like her father, and then she would be stuck all over again.

“No, I don’t drink often.”

He was being so gentle in caring for her, could those hands turn against her one day?

“Ayla?” He reached a hand up, touching her chin lightly and lifting it so she would look at him. “I’ll stop drinking.”

She blinked. Was it that easy? He could just stop like that? Or… maybe he was lying. But no, his blue eyes were soft. He was telling the truth, at least, he thought he was. If she’d learned anything in the last ten years of her life, it was that such a promise was not easily kept.

“I’ll… I’ll do it without the wine or herbs.”

“Okay. That’s what the cloth is for.” He held it up to her. “You don’t want anyone to know you’re here right? So bite down on this and try not to scream.”

She followed his directions, biting down and bracing herself as she stared up at the ceiling. It happened quickly, and so the pain arrived quickly as well. The cloth was useless; she wouldn’t have been able to scream if she wanted to. It was more of a strangled gasp through her nose as she clenched her jaw and she could not stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she’d done so, but her uninjured hand was on Marek’s shoulder, his body strong and firm, her hand squeezing so tight it must have been hurting him. But he did not complain. 

Marek smiled up at her from his place on the ground. “It’s okay, the painful part is over. All I have to do is wrap your wrist and make a sling for you.” She nodded and let the cloth fall to her lap. She was still grabbing his shoulder, and it still hurt bad enough that the sobs continued.

He spent the next few minutes gingerly wrapping her wrist speaking softly as he did so.

“See? It was nothing at all. Pretty soon it will be like it never happened at all.”

“How soon is soon?” She ducked her head so he could fashion a sling over her head and across her back and shoulder. It cradled her arm, letting her relax the muscles.

“Oh, I dunno,” He shrugged. “Maybe two or three.”

“Weeks?”

“Months.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry it’s not better news.”

The pain became more manageable as Ayla worked to steady her breathing once again. He brought her some food, some vegetables and bread. She nibbled on them, but her stomach was still reeling.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He said as he sat next to her, the bed dipping.

She did not respond for what felt like hours. Thinking, mulling, contemplating.

“I just… I don’t understand. Why? Why is he like this?” She could not keep the pain from her voice.

“I’m not sure, Ayla.” He fiddled with his hands. “I think that, maybe, when someone loses something important to them, something they think they need to survive, they forget how to live.”

“I don’t think my mother is dead, though, Marek. The way he talks about her, it’s… I don’t know.” 

“Maybe he blames himself.”

She scoffed. “That’s a bad excuse.”

“I agree.”

Ayla had done everything right, been the perfect daughter, encouraged him to be better, to live better, and yet he’s the one that gets to sulk about his horrible life?

“He blames himself for his wife leaving, but not for beating his daughter?” Her face contorted with… with what? Pain? Anger? This was the worst he’d ever hurt her, and he didn’t even seem to regret it. She was disgusted, that was it. Disgusted by his behavior, disgusted by the choices he’d made and the man he’d become. He wasn’t even her father anymore, he-

“That’s the first time you’ve said it.” Marek said quietly, staring at his lap.

Ayla blinked. The words had just slipped from her mouth, the admittance that her father was… that he…

She looked away. “He’s not a bad man.”

“But you just-”

“He wasn’t always like this, Marek.”

“Ayla, you can’t keep defending him, you literally just told me that he-”

“Stop!” She brought her uninjured hand up to cover her ear in an attempt to block his words. “Please. It’s… it’s hard enough without hearing it from other people.”

He shifted, bringing one leg up onto the bed and crossing it under the knee of his other leg, and looked at her.

“Okay, then can I ask you something else?”

“It’s not about my father?”

“No.”

“Okay, then go ahead.”

“Why don’t you want to marry me?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Well, she certainly wasn’t expecting _that_ question. He looked so earnest, eyebrows furrowed just so, shoulders slumping dejectedly, yet eyes still somehow hopeful.

“Did you ever ask me if I wanted to marry you?”

“No, I asked your-” His expression changed, eyebrows lifting as he leaned back. “I asked your father. He didn’t talk to you, did he?”

She shook her head. 

“Do you…” He looked down at his lap, fiddling with his thumbs again. “Do you want to marry me?”

“I don’t know, Marek. I don’t know what I want out of life. I’m…” she sighed, wishing her scarf was wrapped around her head instead of thrown onto the bed. It would have been great to be able to hide her face through this.

“My father is very broken. But I think I’m broken, too, at least a little. Maybe, if things had been different, I would be happy to marry you. I just…” 

He put a hand on her knee. “It’s okay.” He smiled sadly. “I understand.”

And that was far too close for comfort.

Ayla cleared her throat. “I uh, I should be getting home, Marek. Father will be getting worried.” She stood quickly, backing away through the room.

“Maybe… maybe you could…” Marek stood as well. “Maybe you could stay with Mathilda for the night, you know, just… get away for a bit.” His posture changed, broad shoulders stiff, hands fiddling with his thumbs, and he shifted from foot to foot. He was nervous, worried, no longer relaxed. In another circumstance, Ayla might have been comforted seeing him back to his awkward self, but she couldn’t help but feel like she needed to get out.

“Marek, that would defeat the whole purpose of me coming here. No, I have to go home.” Ayla said, waving her hand and shaking her head.

“Ayla,” He pleaded.” Don’t go back. If… if you don’t want to go to Mathilda, I’ll sleep in the living room and you can have my room.”

Ayla blushed at the thought. Sleeping in a man’s bed? Her father wouldn’t be the only one the town was gossiping about. By the light of the Morning Lord, what was she doing here?

“That… this has all been highly inappropriate. I’m sorry. Thank you for the help, but I-” She turned to leave but he moved quickly putting himself between her and the door.

He didn’t seem so comforting to her any longer.

“Ayla, you have to listen. Your father, he’s just going to hurt you again.”

She could see he was trying to be comforting, but all her mind could comprehend was that a man, whom she thought she could trust, was towering over her and blocking her only exit.

“Let me go.” She whispered, eyes focused on his hands in case he raised them toward her.

“I… I’m just trying to protect you.”

She met his gaze and held it. “Are you going to force me to stay?”

His shoulders slumped. A moment later, he stepped aside, unable to look at her.

“No, of course not, Ayla, I-”

The end of his sentence was lost to the mists as Ayla pushed her way out of his home and into the night air.

For once, her home was a welcome sight. It was less welcome after opening the front door.

* * *

Even in the unlit room, Ayla could see that it was an absolute disaster. The kitchen table was overturned, unlit candles toppled over, the wax having broken and scattered. One of the chairs was broken, the other leaning awkwardly against the far wall. The cabinets were open, some of the pans on the floor, and one of the window shutters was dangling from its hinge.

But the most disturbing sight was her father huddled in a corner, knees to his chest, head hidden by his arms, sobbing.

“Father?” She said tentatively.

His head shot up but she could not see his expression. She fumbled around the kitchen counter before finding an unbroken candle and the tinderbox they kept, but lighting it was difficult one handed. She struggled with it, eventually resorting to using both hands and gritting her teeth through the pain. Holding the candle and breathing through her nose, she moved to her father, setting the candle beside him. His eyes were red, the skin under them puffy and damp, his hair a disaster, a half empty bottle at his side.

“Ayla?” He whispered, slowly reaching a hand up. She could not stop herself from wincing. He must have noticed, because he pulled his hand back to wrap it around his legs.

“Father, what happened?”

“I… I couldn’t remember where you went. I didn’t know- I thought… All I remembered was you screaming and I-” His chest heaved, shoulders rocking as he tried to speak over the sobs, and his eyes found the sling. He stared at it for several moments.

“I hurt you.” He was speaking so quietly, she could barely hear him.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Her heart hurt for him. Here he was, the man he used to be peeking through, trying desperately to gain some semblance of control. The pain in his eyes, in his posture, was evident. Ayla sighed.

“I know, father.”

“I didn’t… I never wanted-”

“I know. Can you get yourself to bed? I- I can’t help lift you right now. Healer’s orders.” She gave him a small smile, trying to joke, trying to bring some joy to his face.

“Did Nikolai help you? I…” He moved to stand, bracing his hands on the ground. “I have to thank him. I have to-”

“Father. You need to go to bed.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

He stopped, staring at her, and the tears began to fall again. “You know I love you, right? I think… I think something’s wrong. I’ve not been- I’m not a good dad anymore, am I? I lie and I scream and I break promises.” He kept blinking through the tears, looking around like he was searching for something, or like he didn’t recognize where he was. “It’s like when Sorina left. It’s all happening again. I… I just wanted to protect you.”

Marek had said the same, hadn’t he? Could she trust either of them?

“It’s okay dad, I… I love you too. Let’s get you to bed.” Her voice was strained, a lump having developed in her throat at hearing his words. This was what she wanted, a father that cared. 

He nodded, her words calming him enough that he was able to stand and stumble to his room. She made certain he made it to his bed before closing his door and making her way back into the living area. She salvaged whatever candles they had, lighting them and inspecting the room. Well, she certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep with the room a disaster like that. Ayla set to work, one-armed, sweaty and in pain, and determined after having seen a glimpse of who her father used to be, spending a decent portion of the night cleaning.

Her wrist ached and she knew she would regret it in the morning. She felt warm and cold at the same time, the exertion and the pain mixing in an uncomfortable fashion. Luckily, the wash basin in the corner of the room had remained unharmed, and she made her way over. She wrapped her fingers over the edges, feeling the rough metal, and with what little light there was, stared back at her reflection. What she saw, she couldn’t understand. Was she a broken woman or a brave woman?

 _This will all happen again._ Ayla thought. It was something she hadn’t wanted to accept, but how could she not when one moment her father was causing her harm and the next he was whimpering on the floor? Time and time again Ayla slaved away trying to help her father, taking care of him, trying to talk him down. But she was beginning to realize that no amount of talking, no excess of words would save her father.

The roots of her hair were growing out, showing red, not black. It betrayed her. Though it was much brighter, a much truer red than her mother’s, it still told the world of her heritage. Worst of all, it reminded her father of what he’d lost.

She’d have to dye it again. That was becoming difficult since her father refused to take jobs in Vallaki as of late, so they no longer had the money or the opportunity to buy the dye. 

Yet he still wanted it hidden. Superstition, he always said. Red hair is bad luck. Perhaps to her father it was.

Ayla moved to cup her hands in the water and winced as the sling restricted her movement, her wrist bumping into the basin. Shakily, she tried again, using one hand to splash the water onto her face and disturb the reflection.

He wouldn’t listen to her, no words could convince him. She shook her head, thinking that it would take the words of a magic spell to help him now. There was nothing she could do, and she had to accept that.

 _Why can’t I accept that?_ Ayla thought, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat as her father snored in the other room.

Something occurred to Ayla. The words of a magic spell could help her father, right? She’d thought it as a joke; she’d heard of people in Vallaki using a little bit of magic, but she doubted their capacity, and no one in Krezk had the time or resources. No one to help her father.

Except there was someone. Someone with stories told of their magical prowess, of their mastery of wizardry.

Someone who traded boons for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! A shorter chapter chapter this time. I'll try and see if I can post the next chapter early to make up for it, but I make no promises. I do, however, promise we're going to see Strahd again next time :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! Also, do you prefer longer chapters with less frequent updates or shorter chapters with more frequent updates?
> 
> I want to thank my writing group for their invaluable help and encouragement: dispatchwithlove, hibbidyhai, StarSock9, and ST_Le.


	4. Small Talk

The stories all said that the devil’s eyes were hot and full to bursting with anger and vengeance, a golden color akin to molten metal. The stories were wrong.

“Though you may wish otherwise,” the devil began as his feet hit the stone steps, the sound echoing throughout the chamber, which was empty except for splashes of red. Just like his eyes. It looked like blood to Ayla, though the logical part of her mind reminded her the red color came from the drapes that were hung heavy across towering windows.

He stood before her, tall as a mountain, and smiled. She could see his fangs as he reached up for her throat-

No. He grabbed at the edges of the scarf wrapped about her head, hands brushing against the skin of her cheek. It sent shivers down her spine. She tried to relax her muscles, her arm aching - having removed it from the sling for fear of appearing weak - and stand her ground. She had to. This was her last chance to save her father. 

“You now have my full and undivided-” He pushed the fabric away from her face, her hair going slightly frizzy with the friction, but he didn’t seem to notice. Ayla looked up at the Devil, and he looked back. His eyes were locked onto her, his body frozen.

Strahd could kill her. She knew it deep in her bones. All it would take was a slip of the hand, his nails dragging across her skin, or fingers wrapped tightly around her throat. Teeth in her flesh, perhaps? For a moment, staring into those dead eyes, she thought he would do it, and in that moment she welcomed death. Perhaps the afterlife would be kinder to her.

But he didn’t. In the blink of an eye he was gone, behind her, speaking in hushed tones with the steward of the castle. The steward glanced in her direction before nodding and bowing at Strahd.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Ayla began walking toward them, uninjured hand raising and reaching out, mouth open and about to speak. She had to gain his ear, had to ask if there was a spell that could cure her father, she had to-

Strahd von Zarovich walked away.

* * *

The stones of the catacomb floors were cold as Strahd paced, an activity he was becoming increasingly familiar with. Pacing in the dining hall, pacing in the throne room, pacing in his rooms, pacing in his tomb, pacing in… He hesitated, body stiff, as he passed by his parents’ tomb. It was dark with a large staircase leading to a landing flanked on either side by massive stone statues of towering knights. Another staircase led deeper, and Strahd suddenly felt as if he was looking into the depths of his past. 

He began walking down the steps. 

He felt as if the statues were watching him, judging him, piercing through his unworthy soul. They strained against the cobwebs leashing them to the walls like chains holding back a beast.

At the bottom of the steps soft light filtered in from tall outward facing windows that overlooked the chasm that surrounded the castle. His steps echoed from the stone floor to the vaulted ceiling and back as dust meandered lazily in the air. Strahd ignored the two coffins at the sides of the room, walking straight to the windows.

Everything was wrong. He was wrong. He was an abomination, a violation of nature created by a dark being and his own greed. Strahd placed his hand on the glass. What would his father think of him? If King Barov were still alive and Strahd offered his hand, what would Barov do?

Likely, he would shake Strahd’s hand, pat him on the back, and congratulate him for his accomplishments in the valley. It made him sick, thinking of all the times his father had encouraged the spilling of blood, had encouraged cruelty and violence. Was that what a king was supposed to be? Violent and selfish? It was what Strahd was raised to be.

 _Can I be something different?_ He turned and walked to his mother’s coffin, kneeling before it and laying his hand upon it.

What would she do now, if he offered his hand to her? She… she would flinch away from him. He could see it, her regal silhouette cowering, if only for a moment, as he had so often seen her do. “Your eyes,” she would say. “They’re cold.”

While the opinion of his father disgusted Strahd, the opinion of his mother pained him. How he wished she had not died on her way to Barovia, how he wished he could have seen her one last time, after all those years at war. 

“I am sorry, mother.” Strahd said. “I… I don’t know how to fix things. I fear I will always be a source of shame to you.”

“My lord?” Rahadin’s voice echoed from the entrance. Strahd stood abruptly, wiping the dust from his hands. He turned his back on the past and marched up the steps, cape billowing out behind him as he did so.

“I told you not to bother me in the catacombs.” Strahd said, lips curling into a snarl.

“Apologies. You made it clear you wanted to know of the reception of your gifts upon my return, so I thought it appropriate. I will use better judgement in the future.” Rahadin bowed, showing no sign of discomfort at the short outburst of anger. Strahd stood tall and confident as he moved, holding back a sigh of exasperation at himself. Why was anger always his first response? Sure, it was often a calculated anger, but that always led to things like… like killing innocents to punish the guilty.

“No, you were right to come to me, Rahadin.” Strahd said, trying to distract himself from the aching in his bones. He moved past Rahadin and did not fail to notice a slight furrowing of Rahadin’s eyebrows, subtle enough that most people would not have noticed. Strahd filed that bit of information away for later reference.

“Tell me of your time in Krezk.” Strahd said.

“From what I saw and heard, the gifts were not only appreciated, but celebrated as well.”

Strahd let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 _Ridiculous. I don’t even need to breathe._ He thought, but couldn’t help but feel relief. Finding a way to interact with Tatyana without feeling a growing sense of dread had been difficult. Demanding her presence or her hand in marriage was something he would have done three decades ago. It was something he _had_ done three decades ago with Ireena, Tatyana’s previous incarnation. Merely sending an invitation felt manipulative as no one refused his summons for fear of retribution. Going and visiting her in person felt… undignified, and that was certainly not the front he wished to be showing.

So gifts it was. It was not the perfect solution, but it lent some form of interaction and did not cause pain to squirm under his skin like so many things did these days. Tatyana deserved the best, and he had agonized over what to give her. Would she hate it? Would she reject it? Would she like it?

“The dress?” Strahd asked.

“She appeared reverent of the fabric, my lord.”

“The jam?”

“She did not taste it.”

“Well, I’ll just have to hope then. What about the furs?”

“They mentioned making them into blankets.”

“They. I assume you mean her and her father?”

“Yes. His name is Danut.”

Strahd nodded.

“And the wine, did they seem pleased?” The Foamfrost and Westgate Ruby were exotic, from outside Barovia. Certainly that had proved an interesting gift. And the Champagne du le Stomp, though native to Barovia, was his best bottle.

“The girl-” Rahadin started but was interrupted by Strahd raising a hand. How dare he call her by such a term? She was a woman, a lady, someone deserving of respect.

“You will not address her with such a demeaning term again.” Strahd said. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord.” Rahadin bowed his head.

“Good. Begin again.”

In a rare moment, Rahadin appeared uncertain. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Strahd raised an eyebrow. Rahadin closed his mouth, seeming to mull over his words.

“Speak.” He commanded.

“...How would you have me address her?”

“Her name, of course.”

“Tatyana,” Rahadin asked. “Or Ayla?”

Strahd opened his mouth to say Tatyana, but a realization hit him. She would not remember her time as Tatyana, and previous incarnations had… they had reacted negatively when he addressed them by that name. He’d ignored their concerns before. Had it truly never occurred to him that may feel, to have your name stripped away and assigned another?

Conflicting emotions waged war in his chest and he clutched at the fabric of his shirt. She _was_ Tatyana. That name, that soul, was one of the few good things from his past. Calling her a different name felt like giving that good away.

“Ayla,” He breathed, struggling to force the words from his lungs. “You will call her Ayla.” The pressure began to lift, though a part of him cried out in silent pain. If she was not Tatyana, then who was she to him? 

Rahadin nodded. “I did not see Ayla with the wine. She did not pull it out as I watched.”

Strahd started walking again, finally arriving at the steps that lead out of the catacombs.

“No matter, I am satisfied with the response to my other gifts. Now, tell me of your other ventures in the city.”

“The town is faring well, my lord. They are becoming more self-sufficient by the year. Burgomaster Krezkov was polite.”

“But?” Strahd asked.

“But he led the conversation in circles. He avoided talk of anything important, and certainly did not wish to speak of you. I am… not skilled in such diplomatic matters.”

“Indeed. Though our upbringings did have something in common.” Strahd said, voice melancholy as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together absentmindedly. Strahd stopped at a door leading to the main floor of the castle and gave Rahadin a moment to catch up.

“And what is that, my lord?” 

Strahd turned and faced Rahadin, hand on the door handle. “Bloodshed.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” Rahadin tilted his head.

Standing close before the doorway, eyes locked onto the other, Strahd could see it in his friend. Strahd could see how Rahadin was not bothered by violence and anger and was, in fact, confused by Strahd’s point. And most of all, he could hear it. The screams. They were always there, wrapping around Rahadin, the souls of all those the dusk elf had killed crying out in agony.

Did a similar set of screams encompass Strahd? He hoped not.

He opened the door and walked through, addressing Rahadin’s question quietly.

“I do not know, Rahadin.”

* * *

Father was so excited as he pulled expensive item after expensive item from a crate on the kitchen floor. He kneeled before it and pulled something out.

“Look at all this, Ayla! A new dress for you,” He unfolded it and displayed it proudly, goofy smile on his face, before shoving it into her arms. She took it gently, kneeling next to him, and felt the silk fabric. It was extravagant, purple silks embroidered with gold filigree, dalmatian sleeves that draped to the floor, and it seemed there was enough fabric that the dress would trail behind the wearer. Most women would be ecstatic at receiving such a gift, but it was just so… impractical.

“Oh!” He pulled a jar from beside the crate, lid already off. “You have to try this Ayla, it is delicious.” He held it up to her. It appeared to be jam, but by the smell it wasn’t grape jam as was typical in Barovia.

“I’m not hungry.” She said.

His smile faltered for a moment, eyes flicking down to her arm in a sling, before he plastered the smile back on. He set the jar off to the side and reached into the crate again.

“Look at all these furs! We’ll always be warm. I could turn these into some decent blankets.” He set one on her lap atop the dress. That smile he wore, it looked so forced.

He was trying.

But he would fail. And Ayla wouldn’t let his hope and optimism infect her again. She’d done what she could and she’d failed. Strahd had rejected her. Yet she could not think of anyone else who could have sent these gifts. Why? To tant her, rub it in her face that she wasn’t good enough?

“Was there a note with the package?” Ayla asked as she ran her hands over the soft fur. Maybe the devil had given her an explanation. She needed to know what he wanted, needed to know what his game was.

Her father swallowed, hands hesitating for just a moment, before pulling a small piece of paper from his pocket.

“I… I think it’s all for you.” His fake smile was still there and Ayla frowned as she took the paper.

_To the beautiful woman I treated so poorly. I hope these gifts make up for my lapse in judgement._

_Count Strahd von Zarovich, Lord of Barovia_

Ayla wasn’t certain what to make of it. Was this really written by Count Strahd? Was he really sending her all these gifts as an apology? No. She refused to believe it. This was yet another manipulation by another man trying to control her.

“That’s where you disappeared to, right?” Her father said quietly. She glanced at him, his fake smile gone, replaced by worry as he gripped a rabbit pelt in his hands. She looked back down at the note. They hadn’t talked about it yet, instead choosing to pretend like she hadn’t disappeared for two weeks.

“I thought you’d left. I thought I’d never see you again.” He looked at her, eyes red. “But you’d gone to him, offered your blood, right? Offered it for all these things, so that we could live more comfortably, right?”

He sounded so hopeful.

 _No. Don’t trust him, not again._ She thought and stood, draping the dress and fur over the edge of the crate.

“I’m going out.” She said.

* * *

Ayla returned late that evening after spending time watching over Mathilda’s sons. The older woman deserved a break, and Ayla wanted time away from her father.

She came home to find her father drunk.

She wasn’t surprised. Though she wasn’t certain where her father had gotten the alcohol, as she was fairly certain Mathilda had been going around and telling everyone not to trade him for it.

He sat facing the cold hearth, hand draping over the edge of the chair, loosely grabbing an empty wine bottle by its neck, slowly turning it around on the bottom edges, glass rolling on the wood floor. The sound echoed in the quiet room. Ayla walked over and took it from his hand and inspected the label. Champagne du le Stompe. Extremely expensive. She’d only heard of it, never seen a bottle. Surely no one would have given this to him.

Had he stolen it?

No. Ayla forced the thought from her mind and set the bottle back down. She wanted to get away, go back to Mathilda’s, and not spend a single second fretting over her drunken father-

He grabbed her wrist, her good one. It was gentle, but firm, and she froze.

Her father muttered something she couldn’t understand. A lump formed in her throat involuntarily and fear began to bubble up. She shouldn’t have come home, she should have known this would happen again, he was going to hurt her.

“What did you say, father?” She asked, forcing herself to sound calm. If she could just appease him, get him to let go, she could leave.

“You don’t have any bites.” He said louder, his words slurring together. She did not respond. 

He turned his head to look up at her, grip tightening slightly. 

“Nothing on your neck.” He reached over with his other hand and pushed her sleeve up roughly. “Nothing on your arm. So where’d he bite you?”

_Breathe. Just breathe._

“Did he strip you, bite you somewhere I wouldn’t see?” He paused. “Did he bite you or not, Ay?” After a long moment of silence, he squeezed her wrist tightly, painfully.

“No.” She gritted her teeth.

“Then why’d he send you all this?” He gestured with his offhand to a pile in the corner, the contents of the crate having been turned over onto the floor.

Ayla did not respond. What could she say? She didn’t know what game Strahd was playing at. So she stood, waiting.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?” Her father growled.

Ayla blinked, surprise evident on her face. “What? No! I didn’t-”

“You disgust me.”

“Why, father, tell me why I disgust you,” She tried unsuccessfully to pull her arm free of his grasp, her eyes forming hot angry tears. His grip tightened, panic beginning to rise as she felt his fingers and nails digging into her skin, her breathing becoming nearly uncontrollable. She pulled her injured arm free of it’s sling, using that hand to try and pry his fingers loose, the fear and anger outweighing the sharp pain of her wrist. “Is it because I look like mother? Are you going to use me as an excuse again?”

 _I remind him of the woman who makes him drink, and he did fine without me, so why not just go?_ Ayla thought. _Go like mother did._

He let go of her with a shove and she stumbled backward before catching herself. She watched his expression closely, gauging whether or not she needed to run. 

“No, that’s not it. You’ve ruined yourself.” He stood, steps heavy as he moved to her. His expression. She looked into those eyes and she saw it. An evil she couldn’t understand had taken her father, twisted him beyond recognition. This wasn’t her father anymore. This was a monster staring her down.

“Whatever you did,” the monster spat at her, lips curled up in disgust. “Go do it again. Might as well be the devil’s whore since you’re worthless now anyway.” The monster’s chest heaved, heavy breathing hitting her face and moving her hair. She did not budge. When facing a beast, you did not turn your back on it. The monster moved back to his seat and did not speak.

Ayla backed away slowly, trying desperately not to let the floor creak, not to bump anything, trying desperately to remain as quiet as possible. She reached the door, heartbeat pounding in her ears, hand covering her mouth in an attempt to keep her breathing quiet. Her hand found the door handle.

She turned it.

It creaked quietly. Ayla froze.

The monster’s head turned slightly, it’s profile shadowed and ominous. 

“Ask for more wine.” It spoke.

Ayla left, running into the cold night air yet again. She did not know where she was going, only that she needed to go, to get away from this life, from this town.

She would die if she stayed. She could see that now. Saccharine memories of her mother and the town were soured now. Tainted. Blackened. Ayla didn’t want to stay here, the monster that was once her father looming over her, hovering in the shadows, waiting for just the right moment to throw her too hard into a wall. Marrying Marek wasn’t an option. He would become just like her father. It was, perhaps, an irrational thought, but she couldn’t stop herself from believing it.

As she made her way to the backyard and filled a basket with as many ripe vegetables as she could, Ayla wondered if she was cursed. Being locked away with her, a cursed woman, behind the stone walls of Krezk would change Marek. It would change her children if she had any. It had already changed her father. It would be better for everyone if she just left.

Ayla made her way to the city gates.

* * *

Strahd had never spent so much time second guessing himself in all his life. Before, all of his decisions were calculated, logical, every movement planned, every sentence meant to convey superiority. Now that felt like a different man entirely. Yes, he’d spent days debating his next course of action, but doubt still permeated his skin as he sat in the carriage across from Rahadin. 

The wheels bumped over dips in the dirt or rocks strewn about, but the seats were plush and cushioned, providing support despite the rough terrain.

“Are you alright, my lord?” Rahadin asked, holding a book open in his lap, one leg crossed over the other.

Strahd rested his elbow on the window frame, head held up by his hand, as he looked out at the trees passing by.

“I’m fine.” Straid said.

“I’m certain Baron Krezkov will listen to reason.”

“Of course he will, Rahadin. I’m not concerned.”

No, he was not concerned, merely contemplative. The trip was necessary; he needed to form good relations with all the burgomasters if he was to improve Barovia. But Ayla was there. He did so hope that he would see her, be able to speak with her even for a short time, and hear her beautiful voice. Tatyana had been a wonderful singer, was Ayla talented in such areas as well? Could he spend time sitting and listening to her songs?

Strahd shifted uncomfortably as his stomach began to churn. Why? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, no thoughts of coercing her, forcing her away, or harming her. He was just thinking of her voice, of how wonderful it would be to have her with him. It’s where she belonged. 

His claws dug into the fabric of the cushioned bench as his body tensed, his hand gripping, needing some sort of support against the wave of nausea. 

That fool of a human just had to add so many clauses to the curse. Was it really necessary for this curse to trigger at even the thought of Ayla? He was only looking out for her wellbeing. 

Rahadin turned his attention back to his book and Strahd gazed out the carriage window, eyes lazily observing passing tree after passing tree.

Something caught Strahd’s eye. A woman, standing out against the background of monotonous brown and green. She was gone in but a moment, walking the opposite way they were traveling. His breath caught in his throat, an urge to move taking over. With a quick breath out, his body followed suit, muscle and sinew dissipating to mist. Every part of his body became lighter and more malleable. He pushed himself out the carriage window and rolled along the ground, mingling with the mists that always lingered in Barovia, moving faster and faster.

He pushed past her, his form resembling a light breeze as it rippled the fabric of her dress. She shivered and wrapped an arm around herself.

Strahd was about to transform back before her, but he stopped himself. How he longed to look her in the eyes, to stand strong unlike his previous behavior in her presence, and hear her voice. But he stopped himself, surprised by what he saw.

Yes, it was Ayla, but her eyes were tinged with red, cheeks puffy, black hair frazzled, the hem of her dress muddied, with only a basket holding some small vegetables. Something was wrong. But most disturbing of all was her arm, wrist wrapped tightly in fabric and cradled in a sling.

Something wasn’t just _wrong._ Someone had _hurt her._

He wanted to transform back, demand who hurt her, and hurt _them_. Perhaps he could remove their arms so that they may never hit or grab someone ever again. No, that wasn’t enough, legs can do just as much harm. Those would have to go, too.

A searing pain engulfed him, different from if he had a physical form. This burned and seared the edges of his consciousness, not only his body. It felt like sunlight coming down upon him. He pulled away from Ayla, hiding amidst the mist, and moved along with her as she walked. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind, and the pain ebbed. She glanced around herself, eyes unsure, searching.

This was all so confusing. He wasn’t even thinking of punishing an innocent for the sins of another. He had very clearly been wanting to tear the arms and limbs off the guilty.

Perhaps the punishment was too severe, too fueled by emotion rather than of logic? Yes, that made sense. He would have to evaluate the situation again when he had all the information.

Ayla seemed so lonely, cradling her arm and trying to block away the early morning chill as she walked down the road. A short distance away, Rahadin had managed to force the horses to a halt. Strahd hadn’t even thought of telling the horses to stop pulling the carriage, his attention had been solely directed at Ayla. She didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything.

Strahd’s body began to coalesce from the mist, skin, muscle, and blood forming around bone all in an instant. He took up stride next to her. Only an arm’s length away. So close; he could reach out and touch her.

“It seems you could use some company.” Strahd said with his hands clasped behind him. The nausea wasn’t too strong, thankfully, but it was there.

Ayla jumped, scrambling backward and tripped over a small divot in the ground. She began to fall.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

With a quick yet complicated movement of his hands and a whispered incantation, he reached out to her with his mind, hand pushing forward and grasping air. Ayla stopped falling, now hovering a few inches from the ground. Strahd brought his closed fist nearer to his chest, and as he did, Ayla moved in the air, body righting. He opened his hand, releasing her and breaking the connection.

Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud.

“Well, that was an adventure. I apologize for startling you.” Strahd said. He’d placed her closer than before, close enough that he could hear her heart beating. So quick.

“I don’t know if I’d call it an adventure.” She said slowly, as if she were testing the words. No, that wasn’t right. Strahd tilted his head, inspecting her features. She was uncertain, eyes glancing this way and that, lips held in a hard line.

“What… What did you cast on me?” She said.

“Telekinesis.”

“Right.” She fiddled with the fabric on her sling, pulling at a loose thread. What was wrong? Did he say something to upset her?

“What is your destination on this lonely march?” Strahd began walking the direction she had been going. For a moment, she did not follow, and he feared she would leave. What would he do then? Chase after her? Let her go? He didn’t want to make that choice, it was too difficult, too painful. He wanted her by his side but that gods forsaken curse ate away at him.

He need not fear long, for he heard footsteps and knew she was following. By the pace, she walked quickly in order to catch up. She appeared in his peripheral vision, remaining a pace behind him. She had followed him. The relief he felt was intoxicating.

“I don’t really know, my lord.” She said, her eyes focused on the horizon. “Away, I suppose.” She said.

“Ah, running it is then.”

“I have no other choice.” Ayla met his eyes and the pain in hers was evident. He had to stop a growl from rising in his throat, had to stop himself from demanding to know who hurt her.

He could take her away, sweep her off her feet and offer her a life she could never have imagined.

“I-” He hesitated. Did she notice his uncertainty? Did she notice how he had to catch himself from stumbling as a wave of nausea hit him? She said she had no choice. Perhaps, instead of taking her away, he could give her a choice.

Strahd moved in front of her and stopped, she almost walked right into him but caught herself.

“I must ask,” he asked softly, reaching out to touch the fingertips of her injured hand. They rested, hanging off the edge of the sling. While her body tensed, she did not stop him. Her skin was warm. 

“When did this happen? After you came to me?” He watched, gauging her expression. She clenched her jaw ever so slightly and averted her eyes.

“Before you came, then.” He said and cursed himself silently. She had come to him, the love of his life, injured, and he was so absorbed in his own wallowing to even notice. Ayla looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed, but with what emotion? Pain, guilt? She nodded.

“I should have stayed and heard your plea. Was this the boon you desired, to be healed?” 

“Yes.” The answer came too quickly. A lie. Well, he would give her this boon, regardless.

He grasped her hand gently, wrapping his own around her fingers. Healing spells were not Strahd’s forte. Calling upon the divine to grant bits of life to people was not something he had ever been able to do. But necromancy, the transfer and manipulation of life? That Strahd understood. He began the incantation as his free hand completed the somatic components. His life, his being, reached out to hers.

For once it was not the curse causing him pain, but this bit of magic. He felt his energy drain from him, felt his shoulders sag and an ache settle into his bones. Meanwhile, Ayla gasped, the puffiness under her eyes dissipating and looked… more alive. The spell completed and strahd removed his hand from hers.

“Your arm should be functional now.” He rubbed at his neck, cringing slightly at the kink there. 

“What… What just happened?” She said wiggling the fingers of her once injured hand.

“Life transference. You were injured, I was healthy. Now that’s reversed.”

Ayla blinked and inspected his features. Strahd wondered what she was looking for.

“You gave some of your life for me?” She asked.

“Of course.” Obviously it was only temporary. Already his nature worked to heal him of the damage he had endured.

She smiled at him, if only for a moment, before it faded quickly.

As the pain of the spell faded, and the memory of that smile upon her lips, Strahd realized something. He felt no pain. He felt no nausea. If his heart still could, he thought it would have skipped a beat.

“I, um, I guess I should get going.” Ayla said as she pulled the sling over her head. She didn’t need it any longer.

No, no she couldn’t go, she couldn’t leave him. He needed her, needed to see that smile again, needed to be free of pain if only a moment longer.

“Come with me.” He blurted it out. It sounded more like a command than a question and she frowned, any hint of that smile now gone. Strahd had to stop himself from wincing at the sudden onset of a headache.

 _She said she had no choice. She wants a choice. Give her one._ He reminded himself.

“I have business in Krezk,” Strahd said, immediately noticing a change in her expression at the mention of the city. She stepped back, eyes widening.

“Which you do not have to go to.” He said. She seemed to calm.

He certainly was making a mess of this.

“I know it’s going back the way you came, but Vallaki is only a day away. I can easily find you appropriate accommodations and you can spend some time there. Running, it never really works in Barovia. So,” Strahd held his hand out, toward the waiting carriage, in invitation. “Why not come with me? You can stay with an acquaintance of mine and have plenty of time and opportunity to plan instead of run.”

He kept his hand up.

Ayla looked between the horizon, him, and the carriage. She was taking a frustratingly long time to make a decision, but Strahd waited.

He lowered his hand.

“I won’t be trapped- I mean… I won’t be a burden to anyone?” She asked nervously.

“I’m certain my acquaintance can find appropriate work for you, as well.”

“It would be temporary, until I figure out what I want to do?”

“Did I imply otherwise?” Strahd frowned, tilting his head. Of course this was temporary. He wanted her near him, not anyone in Vallaki. The headache spiked again and this time he did not try to stop himself from rubbing at his temple.

“No, I don’t think you did.” She looked at him for a long moment, long enough that Strahd felt he had to stand taller and he raised an eyebrow at her.

He prepared himself to hear her say that she hated him, that she wanted nothing to do with him.

She turned and walked away. That was almost as bad, except that she was walking toward the carriage. 

* * *

Ayla wasn’t certain what she was thinking, agreeing to travel with the devil, the same man her father had tried to whore her off to. But over the last few days, traveling alone in the woods, scared and uncertain, she’d found herself becoming more and more numb. It was just easier not to worry about it. She was safe now, right? She was away from her father, after all.

“Ride in front, Rahadin.” Strahd said to his servant as he held a hand out to help her up the steps.

Her muscles tensed as she realized she would be alone with the devil. In a small enclosed space. For a full day. They wouldn’t reach Vallaki till midday tomorrow at the very least. Plenty of opportunity for him to change his mind, rip into her neck, plenty of time for her to bleed out on her seat… She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, trying to distract her mind from the imagery. Strahd had shown no signs of wanting to harm her. Yet she couldn’t help but be wary. 

Besides, did she have any choice? When you have nowhere to go, nowhere to call home, do you deny the offer of a roof over your head? No. So why not dance with the devil?

She settled down onto one of the cushioned benches inside the covered carriage. As Strahd stepped in, she started to panic. Would he sit next to her? She wasn’t certain she wanted him that close. Close meant it was easy to hurt her, to manipulate her.

She set her basket next to her on the seat in a rush, clearing her throat to try and cover the sudden motion. He did not seem to pay any mind to it, and settled in across from her.

They sat in silence, Strahd gazing out one of the small windows. The carriage lurched forward.

He continued looking out the window. Ayla held the now pointless fabric sling in her lap. She fiddled with the hem, looking down at it, then cringed when she saw the state of her dress. It really was an utter mess after having spent several nights out in the cold and the dirt.

Strahd looked out the window. He barely even blinked.

By the morning lord, were they just going to sit in silence the entire journey? He’d been talkative outside, but now was as quiet as the dead. She’d thought Marek’s intentions were honest and sincere, yet he’d tried to confine her and _protect her_. Same as her father. Strahd may have similar intentions, but why was he just sitting there like that? He’d invited her, after all, shouldn’t he be a good host and strike up a conversation? No, it was becoming increasingly clear that he would not be starting the conversation.

“Krezk is a wonderful little town.” Ayla lied. “Are you there for business or pleasure?” Ayla asked. He turned to face her, eyes meeting. “Um, my lord.”

He waived his hand dismissively. “You may call me Strahd. The trip is for business.”

“With Baron Krezkov?” She asked and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t her place to ask after the Count’s business. “If you don’t mind my asking, of course.” It wasn't enough. She should say more, apologize, show that she realized that she had made a mistake, she-

“Yes.” His gaze returned to the window, expression neutral. At least it wasn’t angry.

“Oh.” She shifted in her seat. Well, she’d learned something at least. The devil was not good at small talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I slipped and ended up in a short hiatus :P
> 
> Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy!


	5. Held

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, here you go. 10,932 words and only a week after my previous chapter was posted.
> 
> I don't normally post author's notes at the beginning, but I wanted to thank everyone who commented on the last chapter. Your kind words motivated me more than you know.

“Ayla,” Strahd’s voice was soft and gentle. “Ayla, we have arrived.”

Ayla yawned and pushed herself up, sitting on the carriage bench with her feet curled up next to her. 

A blanket fell from her shoulders to her lap. No, not a blanket, a cloak. His cloak. She looked up at him as he sat on the edge of the bench, expression… worried? She couldn’t quite understand what was in those eyes. Her hands dug into the soft fabric of the cloak. What a kind gesture. She’d heard such horrible things about him, was he trying to manipulate her or was he trying to be better?

_ Father tried to be better.  _ The thought formed unbidden in her mind.

Strahd stood awkwardly in the carriage, hunched over below the ceiling, and stepped out. He reached back in, offering his hand to help her out. She scooted toward the door on the bench.

“My cloak.” Strahd said.

So he wasn’t kind after all. Of course he was asking for his cloak back. She handed it to him and he draped it over his opposite arm. Then he put his hand back out, reaching for hers.

Ayla frowned at him, half expecting him to ask for something else, but he didn’t. She took his offered hand, and he gave her support as she stepped out.

Where Krezk was small and close knit, Vallaki was bustling and full to bursting. At this time of morning, everyone had somewhere to be, and she could see people running about on the streets carrying things this way and that. Fathers on their way to work, women buying groceries, children playing or delivering mail. Guards even walked past in beat up metal armor, scarred and dented in places. Some walked with their helms off, speaking excitedly to each other. Ayla did a double take as she noticed a  _ woman _ in a guard’s uniform, laughing alongside the male guards.

The wind blew, rustling the pines of a tree, and chilling Ayla. Yes, winter was certainly on it’s way, it-

Strahd placed his cloak over Ayla’s shoulders, fastening it in front of her. She frowned at him, and he gave her a small smile. No fangs showing. No reaching for her neck.

She let him guide her toward a mansion she hadn’t noticed before, his hand placed gently between her shoulder blades. The house stood tall, yet its roof sagged and the moss-covered walls bulged and groaned. Ayla couldn’t help but feel that house hated itself.

_ We have something in common, then. _ Ayla thought and was immediately surprised by it. Is that really how she thought of herself? Worn down and broken, on the verge of collapsing?

Strahd knocked on the door, brass bands reinforcing the old wood. It opened but a moment later by a elderly woman clothed in a fine grey dress with gold accents on the chest and sleeves. Her grey hair matched the dress and she kept it tied back in a tight bun. The wrinkles at her eyes and the sunken cheeks betrayed her age, but her posture and poise seemed to fight back against time.

The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Lady Watcher!” Strahd exclaimed, taking the woman’s hand and giving it a quick kiss. “How is your health?”

“Ailing.” Lady Watcher said, voice scratchy yet strong. She clasped her hands before her. “But that is what happens with age. Easy for you to forget, I’m sure.” She stepped aside, making room, but offered no other invitation. Did Strahd need an invitation? That was something the childhood stories had always assured. You were safe so long as you didn’t invite the devil in.

“I do find it difficult to keep track of. Do Vallakians still host birthday parties?” Strahd stepped across the threshold. Either the rumors were false, or he’d been invited in before, perhaps?

“Yes, my own is coming up soon. I said I did not want a celebration, but Karl insisted.” She sighed and smiled. “Such a good son.”

Rahadin stepped up next to Ayla. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, eyes meeting hers with intensity. Ayla was surprised to find them so much darker than Strahd’s. She frowned at him, focusing her eyes. What was that noise? It almost sounded like screaming.

“My lady, they wait for us.” Rahadin continued gesturing forward. Ayla shook her head. Strahd had disappeared into another room, but Lady Watcher stood at the door, a scowl starting to form.

Ayla nodded and moved forward.

The interior of the house was in far better condition than the exterior. The entryway was small, three wood framed stained glass doors leading from it. Lady Watcher walked slowly as she led Ayla and Rahadin through one of them and into a lush sitting room. Strahd had already made himself comfortable, a wine glass in his hand.

Ayla froze. Rahadin bumped into her from behind and she felt, more than heard, an irritated grumble come from his chest. She scurried forward, taking a seat in a chair next to Strahd. Sitting on the edge of her seat, cloak still wrapped tightly around her, she eyed that wine glass as Strahd took a sip.

Was it wine? Could vampires even drink wine? Was it any better if it was blood?

“So, you come into my home without so much as a letter informing me of your arrival, catching me so clearly ill-prepared for guests.” Lady Watcher sat opposite Strahd, propping a small velvet throw pillow behind her lower back, and she sighed into it’s comfort. “So ill-prepared, in fact, that my steward has the day off and I had to open the door myself.”

“And it was a lovely surprise indeed, to see you instead of the steward.” Strahd set his glass down on the wood carved coffee table. Rahadin picked a book off a small shelf at the side of the room and began reading as he stood.

“Yes, yes. Always the flattery with you.”

“Well of course, I know it works on you.”

Lady Watcher sighed. “What can I do for you Count Zarovich?”

“I need a favor.”

“Certainly. You need only ask.” She bowed her head slightly to him, and Ayla realized this woman offered no bow or curtsey to Strahd.

By the Morning Lord, she hadn’t either.

Was he angry at her lack of propriety? She glanced at him. He didn’t seem angry. Ayla looked away, sighing quietly in relief. So much was happening and she didn’t know what to do besides to go along with it all.

“House Ayla while I travel to Krezk. A few days, perhaps.”

Lady Watcher turned to Ayla and raised an eyebrow. She was good at that, it seemed. Her gaze was so scrutinizing as she looked Ayla up and down. Ayla resisted the urge to shift in her seat, instead clutching at the cloak.

“Well, I have spare rooms. Is that all?”

“Find her some work as well.”

“My, my, asking much aren’t we.”

Ayla frowned at the woman, glancing between Lady Watcher and Strahd. Was she being sarcastic with him, and he was  _ smiling _ ? Where was the vengeful devil she’d heard so much about?

“I will be leaving immediately, unfortunately.” Strahd said and stood. Rahadin looked up, closing his book and moving to place it back on the shelf, but Strahd raised a hand. “No need, Rahadin, you will remain here with Ayla.” Rahadin stopped, and the two gazed at each other for several long moments. She felt like she was missing out on an entire conversation. Eventually Rahadin nodded and returned to reading his book.

Strahd leaned down, taking Lady Watcher’s hand and giving it another kiss.

“I bid you farewell.” He moved to leave the room.

“Strahd!” Ayla called out just as he was about to turn the corner. She regretted it immediately. It was improper, calling out and making demands of the lord of Barovia. He had not addressed her, barely even looked at her since they’d stepped from the carriage. How dare she be so rude to him. 

He turned and looked at her. Cold eyes.

“Yes, Ayla?” Strahd said, no hint of irritation, yet she couldn’t help but feel panic bubbling in her. She tried to let go of it, to let the panic fade away, to let the numbness leak into her soul.

“Um… You’re going to Krezk…”

He tilted his head. “Yes, I believe we already addressed that.”

“Could you, maybe, if it’s convenient, grab some things for me?”

“You need only ask.”

“I… I have a collection of sketches and drawings. It’s in a bag under my bed. And a small wooden box with carvings on the top. Could you please get that for me?”

“I will find these items for you.” With that, he left.

That was easier than she’d expected. He didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t grumble or tell her it was an inconvenience, didn’t yell at her. He just… accepted it.

“Alright child, get off that chair. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re an absolute mess.” Lady Watcher said and began to stand herself. Rahadin’s attention shifted quickly, scowling at the lady of the house. She waived him off. “Don’t get yourself wound up. I mean no disrespect, but she  _ is _ a mess. Come with me, Ayla.”

Rahadin calmed and Ayla began to follow Lady Watcher.

“I will be here, if you need anything.” Rahadin said as she left. Why was  _ he _ being nice to her? This was all so… overwhelming. She couldn’t help but be apprehensive about everything, but what could she do? Say no to offers of kindness, of a roof over her head, of food on her plate and a job to keep her busy? She had nothing.

She didn’t know what she would do if Lady Watcher started treating her as her father had.

Lady Watcher led her through several halls and Ayla was acutely aware of how her boots left little dirt clods on the fine rugs. She gripped at the cloak.

_ He forgot his cloak. _ She realized.

“You called him Strahd.” Lady Watcher did not look back as she addressed Ayla. “Is this out of familiarity or disrespect? I will not tolerate the latter.”

“Neither, my lady. He asked that I call him Strahd.”

“Interesting.”

They walked in silence, eventually reaching a door.

“Here is the washroom. If my familiar listened to me, stubborn bat, the bathwater should already be warm.” Lady Watcher gestured to the door.

A voice came from seemingly nowhere, high pitched and greasy, and without a source. “You wound me, mistress! I do as you ask, always.”

“You’re just waiting till I kick the bucket.”

“Never, mistress.” Was the voice coming from above? Ayla glanced around anxiously but found nothing. “I will mourn the day you slip on the stairs and break your neck. Or maybe it will be death by drowning, or a dagger in the back. I will mourn those days, too!”

Lady Watcher’s face remained expressionless. “Please ignore him. He has an attitude, but he listens to me most of the time. Come.” She glanced to the wall above the door as she said the last word and made her way down the hall. Ayla thought she heard skittering above her. It faded as Lady Watcher left.

  
  


A bath and a fresh change of clothes later, Ayla sat in the sitting room with Lady Watcher, both picking at a platter of snacks with skewers. Chunks of bread being dipped in melted butter, delicious bits of goat cheese, and a bowl of slightly soft grapes. Not bad, but clearly waning after the journey from the winery. Rahadin sat in a chair, still perusing that same book. His vest was unbuttoned now, white cotton shirt tucked into his trousers and legs crossed over each other.

Ayla savored the tastes and smells, wanting to relax into the plush chair, but holding herself back. 

“How does the dress fit?” Lady Watcher asked.

“Well, my lady.” If not a bit large in the bust, but it would do. It was comfortable, nothing quite like the extravagant gown that Strahd sent her days ago, but far nicer than anything she’d worn.

“You speak well. You’re from Krezk?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You are educated?” Lady Watcher plopped a grape into her mouth.

“I can read and write, if that is what you mean.”

“It’s a start. What of logic and math? Did your mother educate you in this?”

Ayla felt her heart fall. Her mother had been trying to teach her. It had been cut short. Besides, it would have only been the basics. What did Lady Watcher expect of her? To be an alchemist or surgeon?

“My mother… left before I reached womanhood. But I learned some.” Ayla said, trying to keep the pain from her voice.

“What sorts of things do you busy yourself with then?”

“Maintaining the house, the garden-”

“Did your father manage the house finances?” Lady Watcher winced at something and grabbed a small pillow, adjusting it behind her as she did previously.

“... yes.”

Lady Watcher raised her eyebrow. “Not well, I take it?”

“No, my lady. But it wasn’t very necessary, either. We do a lot of trading and bartering in Krezk.”

“Well, it seems you may have several useful skills then.”

“Only in basic household chores, my lady.” Ayla winced, suddenly ashamed of her upbringing. Her father had tried after mother left, but… he’d failed. Like he always did. And now she was failing. Perhaps that was just a constant state of being for humanity. She wished she kept Strahd’s cloak with her so she could hold it tightly around her, but she’d left it in the washroom.

“Hardly.” Lady Watcher scoffed. “In maintaining the house you must think ahead, what needs to be done first. You learn to prioritize. For example, when you clean the home, what do you start with?”

“The shelves and cabinets, my lady.”

“And you work your way down?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because if I start at the bottom, as I clean the shelves, I will dirty the floor again.”

“And gardening. Do you plan out what plants do best in different seasons?”

“I… yes, I do.” Ayla said and shifted in her seat, sitting a little taller.

“What of spacing and light?” Lady watcher inspected her fingernails, turning her hand over in front of her.

“Some plants need as much light as possible, others may do better with extra shade. And some plants need more room or they may choke each other.”

Lady Watcher smiled at her for the first time. “Good. I have a job for you then. Follow me.”

They started walking, making their way up through the first floor, eventually coming upon what looked like a personal library. It was essentially a larger version of the sitting room with a desk on one side of the room and a couch and sitting room table on the other. Bookshelves lined the room, most of them full to bursting. Ayla stepped inside, dress dragging slightly on the floor behind her.

“This is your task.” Lady Watcher gestured toward the shelves. “I will admit, I have gotten lazy. My books are rather misplaced, and you will reorganize them.”

Ayla nodded, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “How would you like me to organize them?”

“However you think is best.”

“I-” Ayla hesitated. What if she did it in a way that displeased Lady Watcher, what if she damaged something, what if she couldn’t figure out a way to do it at all? “I don’t know if I have the skills for this, my lady.”

Lady Watcher sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “My dear child, we just went over this. You have learned organizational skills, how to extrapolate information, and most importantly, common sense. You will be fine, I trust you to accomplish the task. I will be about if you need me. Just knock on doors or curse at the ceiling, that will attract my or my familiar’s attention.” She turned to leave. “Or pester Rahadin, that’s always entertaining.”

The door closed.

Ayla spent some time considering, some time fretting, over how to best complete the job given to her. Organize by author or by genre? Should she have subsections, bookshelves dedicated by genre but organize them on their shelves? Was Lady Watcher interested in something visually pleasing such as organization inside a genre by color of the book’s spine, or was she someone who valued ease of use, in which case organizing alphabetically would be better?

She ran her fingers across several spines, feeling the textures of the leathers.

_ I should take them all off the shelf, write down any info I can about them, then organize. _ Ayla considered. Yes, that would be the best course of action, the-

Her hand froze over the spine of a book. It was old and it’s title made her mourn for her past.  _ Amazing Life of Petals _ . It wasn’t a complicated book. It took the perspective of a small flower, using that and a few hand drawn images to tell a story and to educate about the life of certain plants. Ayla pulled it from the shelf and flipped through some of the pages.

Her father had read this book to her a long, long time ago. A time when she had both of her parents, when they both loved her. And now one had left and the other had… had…

Ayla wiped a tear away from her face angrily, removing the book and shoving it in one of the desk drawers. She pushed up her sleeves and set to work, forcing memories of her father to the farthest recesses of her mind. She could do this.

  
  


_ I can’t do this _ , Ayla thought, sitting amidst piles of haphazard books, arms wrapped around her knees as she pulled them to her chest. This was crazy, how could she have possibly thought she could handle something like this? She ran her hand through her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, combing it with her fingers. She just needed something monotonous, something to busy her hands so she didn’t have to think.

What was she going to do? They would all be disappointed in her, they would all be mad at her.

She could run.

_ Is that really what I’ve come to? Did my father, did that monster, really break me so thoroughly? _ Ayla worried. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“If you’re going to wreak havoc on the mistress’ library, maybe you should do it a little more violently?” That raspy, greasy voice again. Ayla looked up and nearly jumped from her skin. Atop one of the piles of books was a small, red skinned, humanoid creature. It stood on it’s clawed toes, similar to that of a cat or dog, with a human torso and arms. It’s face was squished, almost pig-like, with black eyes and folded bat-like wings protruding from it’s back. It was no bigger than her head. It scratched at its face with clawed fingers, inspecting a pile of books next to it.

Ayla scrambled backward, hand to her chest. The cut of her dress was lower than she was normally comfortable with, but it made it easier for her palm to feel her heartbeat. She tried to calm herself by counting the beats in her chest. The critter inspected the pile next to it a moment longer before lifting a foot and kicking it, toppling the pile over. The books crashed to the floor in front of her as it smiled.

“See? Much more interesting!” It said.

Ayla did not respond.

It’s smile faltered. “Please don’t tell the mistress I did that.”

“I… won’t?” Ayla said with hesitation.

“Oh, good.” It looked relieved as it sat down on the edge of the books and swung its legs back and forth. “You had me worried for a second there.

Ayla cautiously resumed her previous seating, chin resting on her knees. Somehow, she didn’t feel very threatened by this tiny critter.

It stopped swinging its legs. “What, do I got something in my teeth?” It ran its forked tongue across its many pointed teeth. It’s wings relaxed at either side and she finally noticed a chitinous tail with a sharp, curved point at the end.

That was slightly more threatening, but it was still so  _ small _ . Ayla grabbed a book near her under the pretense of examining it, but really she planned to use it as a weapon should the creature attack. It picked at its teeth with claws.

“Did I get it?” It asked.

“Yes…” Ayla said.

“Good. Well, don’t let me stop you, go on.” He motioned with his hand toward all the piles. “Organize them, topple them, whatever tickles your pickle. Mistress only told me to watch, not to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“She’s spying on me?” Ayla asked, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“Pft.” He held in a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. She spies on everyone.”

Ayla tried to remember the word Lady Watcher used. “You’re… her familiar?” Ayla said and shifted, sitting criss cross with her legs about her as she pulled a stack of books closer.

“Yup.” He replied, letting an arm dangle over the edge.

“And what does that mean?”

“Eh, nothing much. She summoned me and now we work together.”

“Summoned you? From where?”

“The nine hells, of course.” He said it like it was the dumbest question she could have asked. Ayla frowned at him.

“So, what are you?”

“I’m an imp. A fiend. A devil. You may now bow in respect of my power.” He held his chin high and pouted his lips out.

Ayla did not bow. He squinted at her.

“Is that anyway to treat a devil?”

“I- The stories all call Strahd the devil.”

“Oh, sweet summer child.” He took flight then, wings flapping and holding him aloft in the air. He moved next to her and she had to stop herself from pulling away from the creature. It hovered in front of her, and it reached out and patted her cheek. It was so small, and yet that motion, that raising of the hand, made Ayla flinch. “Strahd’s just an evil vampire lord. He ain’t no devil. In the nine hells, he’d be the least of your worries. You ever tried to have a staring contest with a Pit Fiend? Yeah, I think not-”

“Touch me again and I’ll swat you out of the air with a book.” Ayla held one up for good measure, trying to keep the shakiness from her voice. This wasn’t her father. It was a tiny devil, sure, but it was a monster like him. She was impressed with her boldness, at least.

“Jeez, touchy, touchy.” He backed off, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll just sit over here and you can get back to work.” The imp flew to the desk and laid on his side, reclining lazily. Ayla eyed him suspiciously, but returned to her work. She pulled more books from the shelves, setting them on the floor, and began separating them into piles.

“So what are you doing anyway?” The imp asked. Ayla eyed him. “What? I’m bored.”

“It’s only been a couple minutes.”

“A couple  _ long _ minutes. So how are you doing it? I’d just shove ‘em all up there with their spines facing backward. Mistress would not be happy with that.” He chuckled.

“I don’t know yet.” Ayla admitted. “But I have to know what I’m working with.”

The imp nodded. “Guess I’ll go tell mistress you’re doing just fine.”

Was she doing fine? Ayla looked down at her hands, how they shook lightly. She took a deep breath.

_ I’ll be fine _ , she told herself.

  
  


“Walk with me.” Lady Watcher commanded. It had only been a couple days and Ayla was nowhere near finished with her work. She scrambled over piles, careful not to knock any over. Lady Watcher had not come to see her work yet, and Ayla worried she would be upset at the mess, but she paid no mind to it.

Ayla followed. They made their way up the stairs, down a long hallway, and to a balcony with chairs and a small table. It overlooked the city of Vallaki. The mist hung heavy, touching the rooftops and swirling between them. Ayla waited for Lady Watcher to sit before she took her own seat, as was proper. She’d realized that she hadn’t been proper with anyone, as of late. She hadn’t curtsyed to Strahd or to Lady Watcher upon meeting them. Even Rahadin was likely above her station, and she’d practically ignored him.

“I will be frank,” Lady Watcher said, putting a pillow behind her as always. “What happened to you? Count Zarovich brought you here in shambles.”

Oh. 

Ayla tensed and stared at her feet. The question was bound to come eventually.

“Were you on a trip and got lost, or on a trip and something chased you?” Lady Watcher said. Ayla did not respond. The questions being asked reminded her of Marek, of how he tried to understand her and help her. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of her skirts.

“That’s not it, is it. You were running.” She paused. “But I think you were running toward something.”

Ayla frowned. She wasn’t certain what that even meant.

“Let me tell you a story.” Lady Watcher leaned forward and poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher Ayla hadn’t noticed before. “When I was a young girl, my parents wanted to dictate everything for me. The Vallakovich family was in power, and they were horrible, horrible people. Living a life serving the leaders of Vallaki was not what I wanted.” She took a sip of water, gazing out over her city. Ayla followed her gaze. People buzzing along the streets, animals making a ruckus, families living their lives.

“Do you know what I did, Ayla?”

Ayla shook her head.

“I went to the Count and offered my services. I would be his inside woman in Vallaki.  _ If _ he would support me when I needed it.”

“You weren’t afraid of him?” Ayla asked, finally looking up.

“Why should I fear him? I never believed him to be the devil. At worst, he was a negligent landlord. He has improved in the last several decades, however.” She stared into her glass for an extended time. “Moving on. My parents wanted to control who I married. The man I chose was too low born. So what did I do? I refused to marry anyone else. My late-husband agreed to take my family name, and that was that.”

“They just… listened? Wasn’t your father furious?”

“Would yours be?” Lady Watcher turned to her with a knowing gaze. Ayla shrunk into herself. “Yes, he was mad. I think he wanted me to marry Vargas, the burgomaster before me, so that I would help our family rise in power. But my father acquiesced.”

She continued. “When Vargas Vallakovich became so incredibly cruel, so incredibly incompetent that riots formed in the streets, what did I do?”  
“I- I don’t know.”

“I formed a coup, Ayla. I used the riots to my advantage, focused them, and raised hell. And what do all of those stories say about me, do you think?”

“That you are a very strong woman?” Ayla fiddled with her dress, rearranging it around her legs and seat.

“That is true, but not I was insinuating. Barovia is a very dark place. It is violent and cruel and it’s people often mimic that. I did not let it take me, however. All my life, I have reached out and grasped what I wanted. You must do the same. So,” Lady Watcher turned to Ayla with that raised eyebrow of hers. “What is it you want?”

“I don’t know.” Ayla wanted to leave, to get up and walk away. She didn’t know how to respond, she didn’t know what she wanted, how could she be expected to when her father had controlled everything, when-

Lady Watcher reached out and grabbed Ayla’s hand. All Ayla could think about was her father, reaching and grabbing and his fingers digging into her skin. Instinctively, she yanked her hand free and cradled it to her chest. Lady Watcher squinted in disapproval before continuing. “Find out, Ayla. Figure out what you want and run to it, take hold of it and do not let go. If you don’t, this world will drag you down with it.” She stood, steadying herself on the doorframe and walls as she left.

  
  


_ How is Ayla faring? _ Strahd brought the words to his mind as he cast the spell, a spell that could carry thoughts from his mind’s to another’s. It was powerful, but it had its limits.

_ Decently. I have set her upon a task to bring confidence in herself. But I worry. She has been broken. Badly.  _ Not all of the sentences were complete or eloquent. The Sending spell only allowed 23 words, so recipients and casters alike often resorted to improper grammar.

Strahd frowned at the news. He cast the spell again.

_ Broken by whom? _

_ I don’t know. Someone close to her. Possibly her father? More information necessary. She is in pain. I will help as I can. _

Strahd frowned, rubbing his thumb along his forefinger absentmindedly. Dimitri Krezkov, a thin ailing man with dark skin and no sons, set a glass of wine before Strahd, garnering the vampire’s attention once again.

“How is the city?” Strahd asked and took the glass in his hand.

“We are doing well, my lord. Crops are growing and the people of Krezk are… content.” Baron Krezkov said with a slight smile.

He was lying. At the very least exaggerating. Strahd wasn’t certain how he knew, it was simply obvious to him. And it angered him. What right did Krezkov have to withhold the truth from Strahd?

“I am glad to hear that.” Strahd said as he held the glass of wine. Red wine. Baron Krezkov had poured it himself; he knew it was not blood. Yet the man still eyed it as Strahd took a slow sip. Mortals always did fret when he drank, whether it be from a neck or a glass. Perhaps that was why he preferred red wine. He ran his tongue over his fangs in an obvious manner and baron Krezkov shifted in his seat.

“Your crops are growing,” Strahd said. “But what of your lumber? Are you having success in that area?”

“Yes, my lord.” The baron said, dipping his head in a low nod.

“Wine shipments have been uninterrupted, I assume.” Strahd said in an attempt to coax the truth out of the man. He’d found it was far more entertaining to watch people walk into their lies.

“You are correct as always, my lord.”

Strahd hummed to himself and swirled his glass of wine, watching as the contents moved and churned.

“I assume hunting has been fruitful for you, as well.”

Hesitation, just a moment too long, followed by rushed words. “Yes, my lord.” The baron said. There it was; he’d found the lie. Strahd squinted at the baron.

“Deception is not a flattering attribute, Baron Krezkov.”

The man’s smile faltered.

“Even as I sit here, offering my support and aid, you throw my kindness in my face.”

“No, my lord,” He shook his head and set his own glass down. “That wasn’t my intent at all, I-”

Strahd held a hand up to silence him and Krezkov obliged immediately, shutting his mouth. Strahd made eye contact, holding it as he sipped his wine.

“I am, mercifully, offering you another opportunity to be honest with me, as you were not previously. We shall begin again,” Strahd set his glass down and crossed his legs, leaning back casually and resting one arm along the armrest. “Tell me, Dmitri Krezkov, how does your city fare?”

The man gulped, collecting himself. “Decently, my lord. The crops are growing well and the people are content. However, hunting has not been as rewarding, and we lack a steady source of protein.”

“Much better.” Strahd smiled. “There is a… somewhat accomplished priest in Vallaki with the means to create food or water out of thin air. This can be of any food you wish, remains for 24 hours, and provides nourishment for over a dozen at a time. I can make arrangements for this priest to visit periodically.”

“That... That would be wonderful, my lord.” Baron Krezkov bowed his head in respect.

“But you owe me something in return.”

The baron hesitated, body tensing and on the defensive. “Of course, my lord. You need only ask.”

“Gather the town in one hour in a central location.” Strahd said and retrieved his glass again. He put it to his lips, letting the liquid coat his tongue. Buttery, full-bodied, and oh so dull. “And do  _ not _ attempt to interfere with my business. You will fail.” It was at that inconvenient moment that a nagging pain wormed its way around Strahd’s torso, pinching at his lower back. He gritted his teeth, uncertain what on the material plane could have possibly aggravated it now.

“Yes, my lord.”

  
  


Ayla’s home was a disaster. Table overturned and one leg broken. The cooking pot laying on it’s side, a broth having spilled out and it now stained parts of the wood floor. The hearth was cold with no logs at the ready. His box of gifts lay turned over in the corner, some of the furs spilling out. And the smell. Strahd scrunched up his nose. It was like the body of a man afraid of water.

It was midday, yet he could hear snoring from a side room. The door was closed. Strahd cast invisibility on himself, body becoming transparent, and covered his nose with his sleeve. It truly was repulsive. He moved across the room, feet making no sound, but something caught his eye. An empty bottle shattered on the floor. Strahd grabbed a shard of broken glass, the small object turning invisible in his hand, and he flipped it over. He set it back on the ground and it became visible again.

_ Westgate Ruby. _

Yes, this was one of his gifts for Ayla, wasted. He glanced around the room and found another bottle turned on it’s side.  _ Champagne du le Stompe _ .

Strahd tried to control his anger and frustration as the pain wrapped around his body yet again, telling himself he would wait for further information before making any rash decisions. The pain ebbed.

The door handle turned easily revealing a dark haired, limp, and reeking man. Danut, by Rahadin’s information. Ayla’s father. On the floor next to the bed lay another bottle, no cork in its neck, resting on its side. Strahd picked it up. Some liquid, perhaps enough for a glass, swished to the bottom at gravity’s command. The  _ Foamfrost. _ Strahd found the cork across the room, thrown and discarded.

Danut rolled in his sleep, turning over from one side to the other, his arm and half his torso hanging precariously off the side of the bed. His legs were tangled with furs. Furs that Strahd had sent. A jar previously holding jam was open on a side table nearly empty.

All of these things, they had been gifts for Ayla. This man had stolen them. Had stolen from Strahd.

He… he felt he should be angry at that, but all he could do was think of Lady Watcher’s words.

_ She has been broken. _

_ Someone close to her. _

_ She is in pain. _

Was it this man that brought Ayla such pain?

Strahd clenched his fist.

Was it this man that brought his Tatyana pain?

A feeling like a knife plunging into his gut forced Strahd to stumble and catch himself on the wall. His breath caught in his throat and his knees felt weak. What brought  _ that  _ about? The pain was nearly blinding.

It took several minutes of controlled breathing before Strahd could stand tall again. An hour had nearly passed, and he needed to work. He set the Foamfrost down in the corner of the room in the hopes it would not be knocked over and broken. He moved his hands, preparing to cast another spell, but something on the side table caught his attention. A piece of paper, a letter, sprawled out with charcoal beside it. 

It was addressed to him. He read it, anger rising in his chest as he did so. This man was selfish, uncaring of those he hurt or used, his letter made that clear. Strahd grabbed it and tucked it away in a pocket. The invisibility fell as he stopped concentrating on it, body reappearing as Strahd leaned over the bed, face just above Danut’s.

“Danut,” Strahd said quietly, softly. “Oh, Danut.”

The man stirred, eyes bleary as he blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the vampire hovering above him.

Strahd tilted his head and smiled. “It is delightful to see you old friend.” The words of a vampire could so easily twist the mind’s of others, all it took was a little effort. So Strahd pushed, forcing his will upon this man’s mind as he used his words to charm Danut. Panic rose in Danut’s eyes, just for a moment, before calming. Danut smiled. Strahd knew it was coming. He’d charmed people many times over the last few decades and each time the curse spiked and caused his throat to ache so much that speaking hurt. But charming someone was far too useful, so he persevered. 

“Lord Strahd, it's good to see you.” He slurred his words and reached up to pat Strahd’s cheek. Strahd caught his wrist first. “Oh- you’re a quick one.” Danut rolled his head to the side, toward the window, not worried that Strahd still held his arm.

“The sun’s up.” Danut hiccuped. “It’s so bright.”

“Yes, I quite agree. Unfortunately I must request you join me outside. I have something important I need to do, and I can’t do it without you.” Strahd let go of Danut’s arm and stepped back just as Danut tried to leap to his feet.

“Of course, Lord Strahd. I- Anything for you.”

“Good. Follow me.”

Strahd walked through the town following the chitter of concerned townspeople. He passed a few, who all bowed to him and frowned at Danut, who trailed behind like a puppy. It did not take long to reach the town center where Baron Krezkov, and most of the town, waited.

“Ah, here we are, Danut. Look at all these people that have come to greet us!” Strahd gestured theatrically at the crowd with one hand and put his other hand on Danut’s back. Danut was starting to look nervous as he noticed how large the crowd was. All eyes were on them.

“Come along now, Danut. Can’t be late.” Strahd ushered him into the center of the crowd, a clearing amidst all the standing bodies forming as Strahd moved. Danut looked to him, concerned, eyes pleading for help. Strahd would give him none. Hand between Danut’s shoulder blades, he shoved, hard, forcing Danut to stumble forward and crash to his knees, crying out in pain as his pant legs tore and the gravel dug into his skin. It… hurt Strahd, too. Strahd scratched at the skin of his palm to distract from the pain of the curse.

_ Why in the nine hells was that wrong?  _ Strahd thought. This man deserved some form of punishment, and that realization brought no discomfort. Perhaps it was because his guilt had not been proven?

“This man,” Strahd said, addressing the crowd. “Is now on trial. Should you have any accusations regarding his crimes, come forward now so that I may determine his guilt.”

No one spoke. Sure, they whispered and cooed, they turned to each other with frightened eyes, they shifted from foot to foot, but no one spoke.

Strahd began circling Danut. He met the man’s eyes, full of fear now, the charm broken by the pain.

“No one speaks. Why? Do you wish to defend this man?” Strahd said.

“What are you going to do to him?” Baron Dmitri Krezkov spoke up and stepped to the front of the crowd. Strahd’s eyes zeroed in on the man.

“Nothing will be done to him until his guilt is determined and a punishment decided upon. If you wish to call him innocent,” Strahd stepped up to the Baron and placed a clawed finger under the man’s chin. “Then do so. Your Count is listening.”

The Baron did not speak. Strahd nodded and moved to crouch before Danut, who picked small pebbles from slightly bloody knees.

“No one wishes to speak for you, Danut, but no one wishes to speak against you, either. Perhaps you wish to confess, instead?”

“I- Confess to what? I don’t know what’s happening.” Clearly the alcohol, the wine that Strahd had sent as gifts for Tatyana, still clutched at Danut’s mind. Strahd’s throat still hurt and it spiked again at that moment, but he gritted his teeth and bared the pain.

No one spoke.

“Fine. A mind reading spell it is, then.” Strahd pulled a copper piece from the component pouch at his belt and flicked it into the air. It turned over itself, and before it could reach the ground, Strahd whispered an incantation and completed a simple set of hand motions, crossing his index and middle finger around each other, then dragging both of them from his forehead to his chin. The copper piece dissolved in the air as the spell finished. 

Danut was moving backward on hands and feet away from Strahd, sputtering as he did so. But Strahd did not focus the spell on Danut. He turned to the villagers standing in a circle, focusing his eyes on each one. Even without probing deeper into their minds, he could now sense their surface thoughts and feelings. Anxiety, fear, worry. But a few of them were angry. The spell faded.

“You,” he nodded to a woman in the crowd standing with her arms crossed, one of the ones that had exuded such fury and frustration. “What has this man done to you?”

She swallowed and glanced at the others around her, but spoke. “He stole from me, my lord.” Strahd felt relief that someone was finally speaking up. He didn’t have much proof of this man’s crimes, not truly, but his gut told him Danut was rotten to the core. Strahd needed proof.

“And you are, miss?” Strahd said.

“Zondra, my lord.”

“Elaborate, Zondra, on how this man has wronged you.”

“Well,” She fiddled with her hands. “It was back a little bit when Ayla disappeared for a couple weeks. That’s his daughter, my lord, she-”

He raised a hand to stop her. “I’m aware of who Ayla is. Continue.”

“Of course. Well, Ayla was gone, and my husband and I thought that maybe a decent dinner would do Danut some good, so we invited him over. Hid all our alcohol, my lord, but when I checked on it the next mornin’, the bottles were gone.”

Strahd raised an eyebrow. “So an alcoholic rifled through your things and stole from you, yes? How did he manage this?”

“I’m not entirely certain, my lord. I think it was when he went to use the privy, but he came back to dinner after that and he couldn’t have been hiding several big bottles on his person. Wasn’t even wearin’ a jacket. I think he opened a window in the kitchen and set the bottles outside, then gathered ‘em up when he left.”

“Thank you for coming forward.” Strahd nodded and turned to another woman. Another that had been angry. “What did he do to you?”

This woman, a mere teenager by Strahd’s estimation, looked to her parents for approval. They nodded to her.

She turned back to Strahd. “He stole money from me.” Her mother elbowed her. “Uh, my lord.”

“Go on.” Strahd said.

“Well, he bumped into me on the street once and I dropped what I was carrying. It was a gift basket for a friend who was sick. Some baked goods, a little book, and a small pouch of copper pieces. He helped me pick everything up, but when I got to my friend’s house, there were only half the copper pieces I’d put in the bag.”

“So we have a thief.” Strahd turned and spat at Danut, who sat with his knees up and arms loose at his side. His head hung low.

“He beats his daughter.” A man spoke up behind Strahd. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a bulky form. He reminded Strahd of his brother, and immediately his mood soured. He tried to force the thought from his mind with varying levels of success.

“She came to me before she disappeared for those couple weeks. Her wrist was pretty messed up, had to put it back into place and make her a sling. Looked awful painful.” The man glared at Danut, rage clear in his expression.

“She’s come to us, too, my lord.” A plump woman said off to Strahd’s side as she clutched at the shoulders of two young boys protectively. Her husband stood behind her and nodded. Strahd frowned at the man. He looked very familiar.

“Are you Nikolai?” Strahd said. The man swallowed, but nodded. What an interesting tidbit of information. He’d have to tell Lady Watcher when he returned. “You seem like you have something to say, Nikolai.”

“I wasn’t living here at the time, but I’ve heard the others talk about it. His wife left him more than a decade ago, and there are a lot of rumors about why.”

A very old man stepped forward. “She left because he beat her, too.”

Danut shrunk into himself even farther.

Strahd approached the old man. “You saw this first hand.”

“I saw the effects of it. Sorina came to me the night she left, said she needed to leave, quickly. She had… bruises, my lord.”

Strahd waved him away.

“Are these accusations true, Danut?” Strahd said quietly, calmly. Danut did not respond. Strahd reached to grab him by his hair but hesitated.

_ Do not be unnecessarily cruel. His punishment has not been decided. _ He reminded himself.

Strahd grabbed Danut by his arm instead and lifted him to his feet. Once standing, he gripped the man’s chin firmly and forced him to look at Strahd.

“Are these accusations true, Danut?” Strahd repeated, voice nearly a hiss.

“I… no, my lord, they’re all false, I-” Danut fumbled and stuttered, eyes frantic and flitting all around. A lie. He released him.

“So, this man is a thief, a liar, and an abuser.” Strahd understood why Ayla had left. And it enraged him. How dare this man hurt her so? How dare he bring such pain, such tears, to someone so beautiful? Was it really the wine that twisted him so?

Strahd continued. “He claims the accusations are false, but I see truth in the words of the townsfolk. Baron Krezkov,” Strahd glided over to the man. “You are ruler of this town. Do you have laws in place for such crimes? Imprisonment? I could lock him away in my dungeons for a time. Or perhaps I could put a geas on him, one that will greatly harm or kill him should he drink?”

The Baron frowned. “I am not certain, my lord. I do not want him dead. Your dungeons… I don’t know.”

“What about flogging?” That same bulky young man from before spoke. “Followed by imprisonment here, in Krezk.”

Strahd hummed to himself, thinking. “Do you have a means of imprisonment here in Krezk?”

“We could make one.” The bulky man said and crossed his arms.

“Marek!” Danut seemed to see the bulky man for the first time and scrambled over to him. “Marek, you have to help me, you-” Strahd grabbed Danut’s wrist as he tried to pass and with a quick motion twisted his arm up behind his back. It was not broken, but it was certainly uncomfortable. Strahd leaned down to the man’s ear.

“Is this what you did to Ayla?” Strahd whispered and squeezed ever so slightly. Danut whimpered.

“How many lashes do you recommend, Marek.” Strahd asked as he straightened, still restraining Danut.

Marek shrugged. “30. Then 30 days imprisonment.” Strahd smiled. What a little lawmaker this man was.

“So be it.” Strahd released Danut who stood and stretched out his arm.

Strahd reached into his component pouch again pulling free a delicate chain the length of a necklace chain. He twisted the ends around his forefingers, letting it hang slack between his hands. He sighed.

“Be grateful Danut, it’s not every day I use such a high level spell on someone.”

Danut’s eyes widened as Strahd began an incantation. This one was complicated. He needed to get the words exactly right or the spell may implode in his face. Danut started running.

Strahd yanked his hands away from each other, the chain pulled taught, straining and creaking, before shattering into dust. The particles fell in the air, hovering for just a moment, before shooting toward Danut.

Silver manacles formed around Danut’s wrists and ankles and four thick chains materialized in the air. They knew what to do, one end of each chain attaching to a manacle and the other end digging into the gravel and dirt. Danut was still running, and the chains stopped him, yanking him backwards as he yelled. 

The chains constricted, forcing Danut to his knees in a hunched over position, arms extending outward at an angle. They had some slack, allowing Danut to wiggle back and forth, but did not budge.

“I need a whip and a bottle of wine.” Strahd called to the crowd. No one moved. They all stared at Danut, chained to the ground in the middle of the town.

“I will not wait long.” Strahd said. A few people blinked out of their stupor and scurried away. A few minutes later he had both items. He moved behind Danut who was blabbering and begging. Strahd set the bottle of wine to the side before walking up to Danut and pulling his side knife out. The blabbering turned to tears at the sound of metal freeing from its scabbard, but Strahd paid it no mind. He cut Danut’s shirt free and let the rags fall to the ground. 

Strahd placed his hand on Danut’s back and could feel the frantic heartbeat. “If you admit to your crimes, I will lessen the amount of lashes.” Strahd said.

Danut thought for a moment before nodding. “I… I admit. I’m a thief and I… I beat them both.” He sobbed. Strahd stepped back. “They didn’t deserve it, I was just so angry, I had to let it out, I-”

“That is enough. I suppose 20 lashes will suffice.” It was a very light punishment. Long ago, if his father ordered a man to be flogged, the minimum punishment was 50 lashes. 

Strahd got to work, Danut grunting and crying as leather hit skin. The whip bruised the skin in a horrible pattern of crossing lines and the last few cut into the flesh, causing a few tiny streams of blood to drip down. Strahd watched the blood, transfixed by it.

When was the last time he’d fed? He wasn’t certain, but he couldn’t help but think it was such a waste for the blood to soak the ground.

Strahd blinked and turned away from Danut, letting the whip fall to the ground.

He addressed the crowd. “You may treat his wounds and provide him a new shirt and jacket. You will not give him food or water or wine. You will not provide him any creature comforts. You will not try to free him. He will be released when his sentence ends. If I find that anyone has disobeyed me, you will find yourself in a similar position.”

The crowd did not respond.

He grabbed the wine bottle and crouched in front of Danut.

“Don’t worry, Danut,” Strahd began as he pulled the letter from inside his vest and smiled. “I received your letter. I am certainly amenable to an arranged marriage.”

Danut’s head hung, sweat dripping from his forehead. “I didn’t,” he winced in pain. “I never sent it, I-”

Strahd ignored him. “ I see here you write that you would like compensation? For the loss of labor, of course. Can’t be easy to manage a house by yourself. I can understand that. Here is your compensation.” He stepped back and set the wine bottle down in front of Danut, in his view but out of his reach.

Strahd walked away, the crowd bending around him. Baron Krezkov followed.

“My lord, this… this has all been very stressful, but… no food or water? Is that entirely reasonable?”

Strahd cocked an eyebrow at him. “That was very bold wording, Dmitri.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, my lord,” he scrambled to elaborate, “My duty is to my people, so I was merely worried for Danut’s well-being.”

Strahd stopped, eyes dark. “You insinuate my duty is not to my people.”

Dmitri’s shoulder’s sagged. “I apologize, my lord. That was not my intent.”

Strahd stared at him for a long moment.

“You do not trust me.” Strahd said. “Why? Can you not see I care for Barovia? Guards now patrol the roads, I have adjusted the tax laws, I am finding you aid from Barovia, I have just metered out a fair and just punishment to man who committed assault and thievery. Why don’t you trust me?”

“You are right, my lord, I see that. Forgive me.” Dmitri bowed.

Strahd wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He felt very tired after the last several days, and he wanted an honest answer from the man. This curse was, supposedly, designed to cause him pain when he did evil. But he didn’t feel pain at that moment. So that meant he was doing good, right? Yet this man didn’t see it.

“Dmitri.” Strahd placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I swear no harm will come to you from being honest with me. I need to hear your thoughts, I need to know why you resist me so.” Dmitri eyed him and took a deep breath.

“I do not trust you because of past actions. The people of Barovia, they… have not been treated well. A few years of improvements will not fix that overnight.”

Strahd waited. He seemed to have more to say.

“You take what you want, when you want. And it is your birthright to do so, my lord. So I can’t help but question what you have to gain from these recent changes.”

He thought he had something to gain from all of this? The only thing Strahd had gained was temporary relief from pain.

“Thank you.” Strahd nodded and released Dmitri. “Do not worry about Danut. When under the spell, he need not breathe, eat, or drink. He will not even age. I was not exaggerating when I said it was a high level spell. I wouldn’t let the man sit there and starve to death.”

He was doing that to Hayden, wasn’t he? Hayden was fed, sure, but infrequently, locked away in a cage. Strahd’s gut twisted and he put his hand to his forehead to steady himself.

_ I… have a lot of thinking to do. _

  
  


Ayla marked some things off of her mental checklist as she made her way back to Lady Watcher’s library. She munched on some bread as she went. She’d been feeling better. At least, that’s what she told herself over and over.

She thought about what she had left to do for the day. It was getting dark outside, but she could at least dust the last section of books so they were ready to go on the shelf tomorrow. She opened the door to the library. If sleep didn’t come easily, as was so often as of late, maybe then she could get up and finish by candlelight-

Ayla froze only a few steps into the library, mouth open ready to take another bite of the bread.

Standing in front of a window in the library, silhouetted by the dying light of day, stood Strahd von Zarovich. His back was to her, but she wasn’t certain if he’d noticed her entrance. His form was dark, black being his preferred color of choice, and she couldn’t help but remember all of the stories about him, about the devil, about the vampire that he was. For a moment, she wished dearly she were in a house he hadn’t been invited to, then he couldn’t sneak up on her.

Could she sneak back out, go hide in her room?

Memories bubbled up in the recesses of her mind of all the times she’d hid from her father, even if she hadn’t realized that’s what she was doing at the time. Times spent trying to look unassuming, times spent trying to be invisible, times spent making excuses to go out to the garden. Times wasted.

Ayla didn’t want to be that frightened girl any longer.

“My lord,” Ayla said as she curtsied. He turned and he smiled at her. It was small, and a little strained, but he did smile.

“Please, Ayla. You may call me by my first name.” He said.

She’d forgotten that bit of information and she resisted the urge to shrink into herself, to go numb.

“I- I’m sorry, Strahd. I hope I have not offended.” She hated the slight quiver to her voice. When had that even started? Had the quiver always been there, she just hadn’t noticed?

“Nonsense,” He waved his hand and closed a book he’d been holding. He set it back on the shelf. “Come sit with me.” He moved to the couch.

Ayla obeyed. He didn’t leave much room for anything else.

“The things you asked for are on the desk over there.” He nodded in that direction and unbuttoned his vest before sitting down.

“Thank you.” Ayla adjusted her skirts as she sat and fiddled with the fabric. “Was my father home?” The question had been eating at her and she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Yes.” He sighed and his expression soured. “He is… a difficult man.”

“How was he?”

“You still worry for him?” Strahd asked, meeting her eyes. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“He’s my father.” She turned away.

“Someone can be a father and still be…” He hesitated again. “Less than perfect.”

She just shrugged.

It was happening again. She was going numb. How did she stop it? 

Could she stop it?

Strahd pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket on his vest and unfolded it.

“Read.” He commanded.

Ayla obeyed. And her blood turned cold. It was a letter from her father, not for her, but for Strahd. She began reading.

“He… he offered me as a bride. To you.” She said. It made sense. He’d already told her to go be a concubine, why not tell her to go be a bride? Only to someone that could benefit him though, since he’d turned Marek away.

“Yes.” Strahd said. Ayla continued reading.

“For more wine.”

“Ah, so you understood that subtext around  _ compensation for labor lost _ , as well.”

“What did you say?”

She felt stupid even asking. He was the Count of Barovia, he took what he wanted, when he wanted. Despite their first meeting, he’d shown an interest in her. Ayla tried to accept that he would force her into a marriage with him.

_ Be numb. Just stop feeling. _

“I told him I was amenable to the prospect.” Strahd said and Ayla could hear the smile in his voice. It pushed back the numbness long enough that Ayla felt curiosity picking at her mind. He seemed amused, why?

“You didn’t agree.” She realized. “Just that you’d be amenable to it.”

He nodded. “Correct. I thought it best to let him stew on that for a time.”

“This really came back to bite him, didn’t it?”

“Quite thoroughly.” Strahd smiled at her again and she felt a sense of relief, like a weight was lifted from her shoulders and she could sit a little taller. This man wasn’t planning on taking advantage of her. His eyes were still cold, though. 

His smile faded. “I do have more news of your father.”

Her shoulders sagged again. What was it this time?

“Witnesses brought forth several of his crimes, and he confessed.”

That was not what she had been expecting and she frowned. “What did he confess to?”

“Theft,” Strahd watched her intently. “And assault.”

Ayla instinctively clutched her wrist to her chest.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Strahd said as he watched her protect her arm.

She felt a lump rising in her throat. She tried to swallow it to no avail and averted her eyes. She nodded.

“Well, you will be happy to know a punishment was decided and is being carried out. I highly doubt he will attempt to hurt you again.”

“What punishment?” She asked quietly, so quietly she doubted he heard her, but he responded without issue.

“20 lashes and 30 days imprisonment. Ironically, I used a spell with that very name: imprisonment.” Strahd said.

Ayla balled her hands into fists in her lap. Half of her wanted to thank Strahd and wished she’d been there so she could have heard the confession herself. But another part wanted to run to her father, to hug him and tell him it would all be fine, to release him from his prison. That was the part of her that still denied what he’d done, still insisted everything was an accident.

“He’ll be chained there for the duration. No need to fret, however, the spell essentially freezes him in time. He won’t need food or drink, and he will not age.” Strahd crossed his legs nonchalantly.

The lump in Ayla’s throat grew. Why was this so hard, why was her mind so torn? In one breath she could admit her father had hurt her and with the next breath wish that he would be safe. A tear fell down her cheek. She hated it, hated that her mind and body could betray her like that.

“I’d never actually considered using the spell in this manner, I-” Strahd stopped. “Ayla? Are you all right?”

The sob broke free, a strangled hiccup leaving her lips as the tears began to fall in earnest. Tears for her mother, tears for her father, tears for the monster that just wanted the pain to go away.

  
  


Strahd admitted he didn’t think Ayla would be jumping for joy to hear he’d beaten and chained up her father, but he’d beaten her, nearly broken her wrist, and chased her mother away with the same behavior. Sad, that he expected. Relieved that the man who had hurt her was being punished, certainly.

But to break down into hysterical sobs? He had not expected that. And he certainly did not know what to do. He uncrossed his legs and turned to face her, hands hovering in the air before him, not knowing where to go. Should he pat her back, grab her a tissue? Should he apologize?

His heart, whatever shriveled bits of it were left, hurt. It didn’t hold the same bite that the curse brought him. No, this was… sympathy? Regret? He wasn’t certain. But he hurt for Ayla, chest aching in a way that urged him forward, closer to her.

“Ayla, I… I don’t know what’s wrong. I-” He started but she only cried harder, shoulders heaving.

“Perhaps I can help, just… please, tell me what’s wrong. I am truly sorry if you did not want me to punish your father, but it had to be done. He broke the law, he assaulted you, he assaulted your mother, he had to be punished, it was necessary.” By the gods, when was the last time he’d babbled on like this? He didn’t know what was wrong, he just wanted to take her pain away.

“That’s not-” Ayla sobbed. “I just wanted my father to be how he used to.”

She hiccuped.

“But he’s broken, and… and now I’m broken, and I don’t know what’s wrong, I-”

_ She has been broken. Badly. _ Lady Watcher’s words rung in his ears.

It all happened so quickly. One moment, Strahd was blabbering and uncertain, that ache in his chest urging him to move. The next he was turning to face her better, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her close, his other hand holding her head to his chest.

She froze against him. For a moment he worried that he’d done something terribly, horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry. If I could put both of you back together, I would.” He whispered onto the top of her head. What else could he say? There was no spell to reverse time, no spell to take this pain away. He couldn’t fix this, as much as he wanted to.

Then something happened. Her fingers grasped at the front of his shirt, hands holding on for dear life. She pressed her forehead to his chest and did not let go and sobbed. Strahd’s breath caught in his throat, the aching in his chest telling to hold her tightly and not let go. 

He held tightly, and he did not let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Favorite part? What do you think of Lady Watcher? How is Strahd handling his curse? Should we start an "Ayla protection squad"?
> 
> I still have my writing group to thank, which I forgot to do last chapter, but it's nearly midnight and I'm tired so I'll edit this tomorrow :P


	6. Rahadin needs some goddamn rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having trouble picking up from the last chapter so I decided to spice things up and try moving the plot forward from a different perspective. This takes place the morning after the last chapter. I hope you enjoy :)

All Rahadin wanted was to find a nice quiet place to meditate. His eyes stung, his eyelids were drooping, and his limbs begged him for a reprieve. How long had it been since he’d rested? Two days? He rubbed at his eyes.

“So how much does he pay you anyway?” The imp said, floating and fluttering about Rahadin’s head. He did his best to ignore the tiny devil as he made his way down one of the hallways in Lady Watcher’s home. He could go to his own room, but that seemed far too risky. That would be the first place someone looked if they wanted something from him.

Rahadin grabbed a doorknob and began to turn it. He just needed a quiet corner to rest, a few hours was all his body needed.

“Woah! That’s the mistress’ son’s room!” The imp said and flew right in front of Rahadin’s face, annoyingly close, and held his arms up in an ‘x’ shape. “Not happening, ears.” Rahadin’s lip twitched at the derogatory nickname and a grin crept across the imp’s face. He’d seen the slip, seen the annoyance in Rahadin’s face. That made Rahadin want to slam the creature into the wall even more than he already did.

He let go of the door and moved to another. The imp let him open this one. Beyond it was a small supply closet, all manner of things lining the shelves, dust particles hovering in the air, and hardly any room to stand, let alone sit down and relax. He hesitated for just a moment. Though not exactly comfortable, certainly no one would think to look for him here.

“Going back into the closet, eh? Don’t want Strahd to realize how you feel about him? That would just be unseem-” The imp started but did not finish. Rahadin didn’t give him a chance to. In a moment, Rahadin drew his scimitar, a curved silver blade inlaid with carvings in a dark steel, and sliced upward. It wedged into the tiny devil’s body, cutting first up between the legs, through the torso, and finally getting jammed somewhere near the head. Rahadin grinned. It was damn hard to continue insulting his lord when a blade rested in your throat.

The imp burst to ash with a quiet  _ puff _ . Rahadin pulled a cloth from his vest pocket and began wiping the blade clean. Lady Watcher would know, of course. But for now it was early morning and the break between master and familiar would not pull her from her slumber. He had a few hours. Besides, he’d just tell her the truth, that her pest of a familiar was insulting Lord Strahd and making inappropriate comments. She’d accept the explanation with a sigh, he could see it in his mind’s eye, and simply resummon the imp. 

The adrenaline from using his blade began to fade as he sheathed the weapon, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him and his shoulders slumped. At that point, leaning against the hallway wall and sliding down until seated was looking awfully appealing, but a thought occurred to him. It was early enough that the sun, or whatever approximate fabrication of a sun this pocket dimension had summoned, was not yet making its lazy attempt to light the valley. Ayla was likely asleep. She’d left the library an absolute disaster, but perhaps he could find a comfortable corner and hide amongst the chaos. Yes, that would do.

Rahadin didn’t remember much of walking there, only that he blinked tiredly to find his hand already on the doorknob. He pushed it open. To his relief, it wasn’t as musty as he expected. A yawn crept it’s way through his muscles and he let it happen, something he normally would have suppressed. Yawning was… unprofessional. But he was alone. The darkness didn ot bother him; vision in dark spaces was characteristic of his people and he’d gotten better since living in the dark halls of Castle Ravenloft. Yet, as he looked around, he found it more difficult than normal. He rubbed at his eyes and made his way to the couch. He remembered it having several throw pillows and he grabbed one.

Except it  _ squealed _ under his touch and began moving. Images of mimics flashed in his mind, viscous, venomous creatures that had the ability to mimic many mundane objects. He could see it now, the cushions pulling up to reveal a massive maw of teeth trying to latch down on his arm, it chewing as he tried to free his blade and stab it only for the weapon to stick to the creature as it swallowed his extremities. Rahadin wouldn’t let that happen. He threw himself backward, hair on the back of his neck standing and he reached for his scimitar, pulling it free from its sheath to see battle for the second time today. Yet it happened far less gracefully than he would have liked to admit. His foot connected with a stack of books and he moved his other foot backward to steady himself, only to find another stack in his path. He stumbled backward, dropping his blade so that he did not accidentally stab himself as he tried to catch himself.

He fell, back thudding against books and the breath was forced from his lungs as he gasped. He needed to stand, to recover his blade and find a way to kill the beast, he needed to  _ move. _

“By the Morning Lord, I am so sorry!” Ayla said and he heard her scrambling over. Rahadin groaned at several things all at once. He groaned at the use of the absent god’s name, at how he’d mistaken the girl’s sleeping and blanket covered form for pillows, and how he’d thought the her squeal of surprise was that of a mimic revealing itself. Well, also at the various book spines stabbing at his back and sides. He rubbed at his eyes again.

“Are you okay? I… I can go get help if you’re injured; you probably shouldn’t move if you are hurt. Are you hurt?” She appeared over him as she spoke, hair the wrong color, black not red, draping down and tickling his nose. As always, Rahadin could not figure out what Strahd saw in these reincarnations of Tatyana. Perhaps they were the same soul, and he agreed they shared a striking resemblance, but they were so obviously  _ different _ . Tatyana, though a commoner like Ayla, would never have stumbled over her words as Ayla did. Tatyana certainly would not be leaning over him like so, hair falling upon him. What was her game? Was she trying to manipulate Strahd like so many had over the centuries?

“I am uninjured.” He kept his expression blank, doing his best not to show his irritation.

“Oh.” She sat back on her heels. “Do you need help standing?”

He lifted his head glancing at how he’d taken several stacks with him, practically making a bed out of the leather bound tomes. He let his head fall backward and it thudded lightly on another book. This was absolutely  _ embarrassing _ . He couldn’t find a better word to describe his situation.

_ Maybe I could just meditate here. Right here. On these books.  _ He thought.  _ At least it would save me the trouble of moving. _

“Rahadin? Um… do you need help standing?” Ayla asked. He glanced at her and found her appearing more and more nervous. She fiddled with the fabric of her dress. He noticed that it was very obviously not a nightgown. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep while working? He could relate to that.

“I do not require assistance.” He said, returning his gaze to the ceiling. Standing was far too much effort. But perhaps he had enough energy to cast a spell, one of the limited few he could cast at will without incantation, component, or hand motion. Rahadin took a deep breath, and in that split second where his lungs were full to bursting, his body disappeared. As he exhaled, his body reappeared in the space behind Ayla. He reached down and grabbed his scimitar, the blade scraping lightly against the wood and Ayla jumped. She turned and fell backwards herself into the very same pile of books.

He really was far too tired for this. Deciding he needed to sit, he moved far more carefully through the mess and sank into the couch. It cushioned his body perfectly and he sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. His bones were beginning to ache; he could feel it.

_ How long before I truly begin showing my age?  _ He wondered. Perhaps another 50 years, 75 if he was lucky, at which point his hair would go gray, his skin would sag, his body would weaken significantly, and he would look like an old man. 

The couch dipped next to him as Ayla sat down and he heard her strike a match, the flames crackling as it began consuming the wood.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ayla said. Rahadin ignored the fact that was a question and made a lazy hand gesture encouraging her to proceed. He closed his eyes. Perhaps he could just let her talk and meditate while she did so. He’d be able to still hear bits of what she said, though he’d probably not understand much of it.

“Is Strahd… evil?” She said. Rahadin sighed. No rest for the wicked, he supposed.

“I do not believe in good or evil. It is an arbitrary classification that changes with the slightest breeze.” Rahadin said.

Ayla was quiet for a moment. Uncertain, certainly. Perhaps even questioning her naive childhood filled with tales of purely good and purely evil characters.

“So what is the law based on if not good and evil?” Ayla finally said. Rahadin opened his eyes and looked at her, finally having caught his attention. She sat straight backed but relaxed, one hand resting on her lap, the other holding a candle that lit her intense expression. “Do you know of my father?”

“Yes.”

“Was what he… was what he did to me not evil? And was he not punished by the law, and is that not good?”

Well, Rahadin had not expected a philosophical discussion when he entered this library looking for rest, but he would indulge her, if only to pick her brain and discover her motivations.

“I was exiled by my father at a very young age and the law sided with him. If the law is based on what is evil or good, then my father is good. So would you then conclude I am evil, even though I was still a child, a teenager as you call it, not even a century old yet?” Rahadin said and tilted his head at her as he rested an ankle over his knee.

She took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth. “I don’t know. That’s… it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

“And do you not have memories of your father being  _ good _ ? I have memories of my father holding me as a child, though foggy, and I remember him teaching me how to hold a sword properly. Fond memories.”

“Yes, he has good moments.” She seemed to shrink in on herself as she spoke more quietly. “I suppose that’s why it was so hard to see the evil.”

“And here you admit that he has good and evil in him. So how can we possibly classify someone as one or the other?” He leaned his head back on the couch again. “So I cannot answer your question. Strahd is both good and evil and therefore he can be neither. You must look at his actions and decide if you agree with him or not.”

He let himself begin to drift off, his breathing becoming more steady as he entered a trance and-

“Okay, tell me something else, then. Why are you so loyal to him?” Ayla asked. Something about the way she said it grabbed Rahadin’s attention. A bitterness, a judgement, a bite to her words. He looked at her, anger in his eyes.

“You say that as if my lord is not deserving of loyalty.” Rahadin nearly snarled.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant I…” She scrambled before steadying her breathing. “I meant what made you so loyal? What actions of his earned it? I didn’t mean to say that so negatively, I’m sorry.”

Rahadin relaxed, eyes drooping again, losing some of their heat.

“It is simple,” he said. “Strahd has defended me when no one else would.”

She held his gaze. “Your exile?”

“I was accepted as a member of his household.”

“He’s like family to you.” She said, nodding in understanding.

_ He is a brother _ , Rahadin thought.

“Yes, he is like family.” Rahadin said. It wasn’t his place to make such assumptions of their relationship. He would be whatever Strahd needed. War general, body guard, friend, assassin, chamberlain, it didn’t matter what.

“And what about him? How does he view you?” She asked.

Rahadin looked away and spoke quietly. “You will have to ask him. He does not often speak of such things. But I know he respects me, possibly cares for me, otherwise I would not be at his side.”

There was a heavy silence.

“Do you… um…” She shifted in her seat and looked anywhere but at him. He hated when people did that. It was such an inefficient manner of speech.

“Spit it out already.” He muttered in exasperation before cursing himself. He would have never spoken in such a way if he’d been rested.

“Well… Just, the look you had, and how you said it, I thought maybe he was… uh, more than family?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You are asking if we have a sexual or romantic relationship.”

“I… oh gods above I… I’m sorry that was highly inappropriate of me to assume, I’ve just heard that he doesn’t really care if someone is, uh, a man or a woman and-” She scrambled and he held a hand up to stop her before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Has the imp been talking to you about this?” Rahadin said.

“What? No, not at all, has he talked to you about it?”

“Let me set this straight, even though I feel we have been over this topic already. Strahd is  _ like family _ . I have no interest in such a relationship, and, quite frankly, I am not interested in men, though yes, my lord does fancy both.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Blissful silence. Finally, he could rest. It didn’t even matter to him that he wasn’t alone, he could sit here resting on the couch and meditate now that she’d gotten all of her questions out.

“Does Strahd fancy me?”

Rahadin debated using a spell again to misty step out of the room, but decided otherwise. “And what makes you think he fancies you?” It seemed so obvious to Rahadin, but Strahd was so worried that something would ruin his chances again that Rahadin felt it better to play dumb.

“Well, he’s just been so kind in helping me. And he hasn’t asked for anything, even though I went to him weeks ago and offered my blood.”

Rahadin stood and sighed. “Why don’t you ask him?” Clearly he wouldn’t be getting any rest here.

“I… didn’t think it appropriate to question him like that.” Ayla stood as well. Rahadin hoped she did it out of respect for him, out of protocol when in the presence of someone in higher standing, and not because she was going to follow and pester him with more questions.

“He will listen to you.” He moved to the door.

“Rahadin!”

He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said. Rahadin did not look back.

He decided going to his rooms would be far less risky than trying more rooms at this point. Rahadin yawned again as he walked, eyes bleary. Normally he just sat down in a comfortable chair to meditate, but a comfortable bed was sounding more and more enticing. The pillows would cushion his aching neck, the blankets would comfort his body, and he could relax all the muscles in his body. Yes, at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything that sounded more wonderful than a bed.

Rahadin opened the door to his room and there it was. A four post bed with plush blankets tucked neatly around it. And the pillows looked heavenly. He stepped forward, shoulders drooping and feet nearly dragging on the carpet.

“Ah, Rahadin, just the man I was hoping to see.” Strahd said, vest folded and discarded over the footboard of the bed, as he paced back and forth in Rahadin’s room. Without cloak nor vest, Strahd appeared very casual, but that did not mean Rahadin would be disrespectful. He straightened immediately, folding his hands behind his back and standing at attention.

“Yes, my lord?” He said, making a much more serious attempt to speak respectfully than he had with Ayla.

Strahd stopped and turned to Rahadin. He opened his mouth to speak but paused. He tilted his head, inspecting Rahadin.

“You seem tired. You may sit while we speak.” Strahd said and motioned toward a small set of chairs on either side of a small side table. That was the most wonderful thing he’d heard all day. Rahadin did his best not to plop into the chair and recline, instead opting to prop a small pillow behind his back to help him sit straighter. He wasn’t certain how effective it was.

“I am… conflicted.” Strahd said.

“About what, my lord?” Rahadin said.

“About Ayla. Everything is more difficult now. I want her, of course, but-” Strahd stopped, steadying himself by grabbing one of the wooden posts on the bed. The wood cracked and splintered under his grasp and his other hand went to his head. Rahadin was standing in an instant, ready to aid Strahd in any way he could. Strahd motioned for him to sit again and took a shaking breath.

“But this damn curse is persistent.” Strahd growled. “And I still do not understand what all triggers it.”

Rahadin sat down again. “Well, perhaps I can help you understand it better. That was it a moment ago, yes?”

Strahd nodded.

“What were you thinking at that moment?”

“Exactly what I said, that I want her.”

“Was that all?”

Strahd continued pacing. He reached up and untied his hair before running his hands through it and pulling it over each shoulder.

“I was thinking about how to have her.” Strahd said.

Rahadin did not respond, instead choosing to let Strahd think and open up on his own. He’d learned a long time ago that forcing Strahd into anything was usually unsuccessful. And dangerous. Besides, not talking took up far less energy than talking.

Strahd sat in the other chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“The way I see it, I have limited options. My first instinct is to force or coerce her into marrying me but… but even thinking that makes me want to bash my head into a wall.” Strahd ran his hand through his hair and gripped it tightly in his fist. It looked painful. “I could propose, and let her know I will not hold it against her if she says no, but then I risk her doing exactly that.”

“Then why not force her? You have not hesitated in the past. Perhaps pushing through this and resisting Hayden’s influence would be best.” Rahadin offered and allowed himself a small reprieve. He allowed himself to recline more leisurely in his chair and it felt  _ so good _ .

“I don’t want to force her.”

“Why not?”

“It’s never worked before.” Strahd said. Rahadin could see there was more he wanted to say, but Rahadin tried not to force it. “I held her last night, Rahadin. She was crying, in pain, and I held her and… and she held me back.” Strahd’s hand moved to his chest and he grabbed the fabric of his shirt in a fist.

Well that all sounded very dramatic and it only functioned to make Rahadin worry. Strahd was clearly in pain. Was Ayla in pain as well, or was she an excellent manipulator trying to take advantage of Strahd?

“I will not force her. I want her to want me. I just… don’t know how to do that. How can I make that happen?” Strahd said and leaned back in his chair.

“You can’t.” Rahadin said. Well, if Strahd were to be more casual, maybe it wouldn’t cause any issues if he reclined further and stretched his legs out. Rahadin did his best to suppress a yawn, but it didn’t work out too well. Thankfully Strahd was looking away.

“I can’t.” Strahd seemed to be testing the words. He frowned. “So then what can I do.”

“Why not speak with her about it?”

Strahd scoffed. “They never listen to me. They fear me.” That was true. Most anyone Strahd grew attached to had hated him, and even the ones that didn’t still died too soon. But something was different. Rahadin could see it in the way Strahd was bouncing his knee, in how he kept running his hands through his hair. He was a mess, a nervous mess. It had been a long, long time since Rahadin had seen Strahd so open and exposed.

“Something tells me she will listen.” Rahadin wasn’t certain if that was true, but it felt like the right thing to say. Perhaps not the good thing to say, but what was good anyway?

Strahd looked him in his eyes for a long moment. Rahadin tried not to let his eyelids droop. Eventually, Strahd nodded and stood.

“We will have to protect her in the meantime. I want to be prepared for anything. You will take the first shift watching her and I will run the perimeter of the city to make certain it is secure.” Strahd said.

Rest would have to wait. If Strahd needed him to be Ayla’s bodyguard, he would. Rahadin stood and felt himself wobble. Not good. He wouldn’t be effective like this, he would certainly fail if Ayla were attacked or injured, he would.

“Rahadin?” Strahd said. Rahadin looked up at him, attempting to straighten his back and only mostly succeeding. Strahd frowned. “When was the last time you meditated?”

“I… am not certain. 48 hours, perhaps.”

“Why?”

Rahadin took a deep breath. “If I am being honest, my lord, the imp. It takes great pleasure in tormenting me any time Lady Watcher so much as blinks.”

Strahd tried to suppress a grin. It didn’t work very well.

“That tiny thing is causing you such distress?” Strahd said. “I don’t see it around now.”

“That’s because I killed it, my lord.”

Strahd laughed.  “Of course you did. Feel free to continue killing it whenever it pesters you. I will inform Lady Watcher I have given you permission to do so. Eventually she will scold it for costing her money in the spell components.” Strahd went to the door and Rahadin moved to follow. Strahd stopped him and shook his head. “Get some rest. As much as you need.”

Rahadin nodded and Strahd closed the door.

He collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes or crawl under the covers, wondering when he'd become a therapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone be interested in me sharing my Strahd and Ayla themed Spotify playlist? If there's interest I'll put a link in the notes of the next chapter. If not, just ignore this.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented last week, I really enjoyed reading it all!
> 
> Also I'm kind of impulse posting this at 1:31 am, so if I decide at a later date to edit this chapter a little, I'll let you guys know I did it.


	7. What We Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who sticks around even with my inconsistent posting schedule :) Originally this was going to be longer, and therefore I'd be waiting another week to post anything, but I decided to split it in two so you'd have something to read a little sooner. Next chapter is going to be a long one.
> 
> As a couple people were interested, here is the spotify playlist I have for these two. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2c8bLbNcf1NIkKNLmRmW8s?si=TqqzqkGrRp-_97XSxn4NiA

After the bizarre, early morning philosophy discussion, Ayla found it difficult to fall asleep again. It was embarrassing enough that she’d fallen asleep on the couch, but every time she looked over at it, every time she caught a glimpse of the couch in the corner of her eye, she was reminded of just why she’d fallen asleep there in the first place. News of her father. She couldn’t help but imagine what he must have felt. Leather biting into his back, his throat sore from crying out, his muscles tense and shaking from the pain and the strain.

Yet those memories were contrasted by something that was… far more pleasant. Gentle arms wrapping around her, his hand on the small of her back, holding her steady just as her world felt like it was collapsing around her all over again. And his voice, soft and affirming. Her whole body felt like it hurt yet.... there he was.

She… wasn’t really certain what to make of all that yet. So she tried to throw herself into working more in the library. She shuffled things around, even shifted the furniture a couple times, tried not to think about her father, made an itemized and organized list of different authors, tried not to think about what Strahd was thinking about, decided the list was completely useless, tried not to think about Strahd holding the whip and-

Ayla felt like she couldn’t breathe. That room, it was far too stuffy, far too tense, an echo chamber of all her hopes and fears. It… it was like being at home again. She thought she’d escaped all of that, but here she was, stuck in a stuffy room, still feeling trapped by memories of her father and her future.

She needed to get out, she needed-

A knock sounded from the door. Ayla glanced at the window, surprised to find it was past sunrise already. It was probably Lady Watcher then, come to check on her progress.

“Come in,” Ayla said.

The door opened and in came Strahd, footsteps just as quiet as her father’s were loud. 

“Oh, good morning, my lo-Strahd,” Ayla said, remembering to curtsey this time as she corrected herself. He nodded at her in what she assumed was dismissal before settling in on the couch. He rested his elbow on the arm rest, propped his chin up on his fist, and crossed his legs. It was a very casual position, highlighted further by the lack of vest or cloak.

“How are you feeling?” Strahd asked. Right, no small talk, straight and to the point. That was the kind of man she was learning he was. She turned away from him, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Direct was fine, it meant she wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells, trying to find the right things to say, trying not to let that tension in the air burst. That is, if he remained in Vallaki. Did she want him to stay so close? Ayla grabbed a cloth and began busying herself by dusting off some of the older, more untouched books. Anything to distract herself from thinking about things that could get her hurt.

“I’m fine,” Ayla said.

Strahd paused for a long moment. “That is good to hear.” 

“Did you sleep well?”

“Not at all, considering I do not sleep,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice and instantly regretted the question; it had been the first thing that popped into her head but it now felt like such a stupid thing to ask a vampire. What was she thinking?

“And you?”

Ayla remembered the feeling of his arms around her, of her own hands against his chest, of her hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, of his whispered words of comfort, and she remembered falling asleep against his chest.

Before she knew it the words were falling from her mouth before she could catch them. “I slept just fine, thank you!” She nearly cringed at how shrill her voice was and she swept a cloth across a particularly old book. But she did so a little too quickly, the dust coming up into the air and tickling her nose and throat. She gave a quick cough, turning and stepping out of the small dust cloud, to find him standing, hand reaching out in uncertainty, his brows furrowed.

“Are you certain you are alright?” 

She felt a sneeze coming on. What was the procedure for sneezing in front of a nobleman? Were you supposed to excuse yourself or try to sneeze quietly? Her sneezes were  _ not _ quiet. Maybe holding her breath would make it just go away. 

She took a breath and held it, trying to smile as the tickling in her nose got worse. He was still looking at her though, and didn’t seem very reassured, so she gave him an awkward thumbs up. 

He clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

She rocked on her feet. Maybe she should just sneeze.

“Sneezing will not offend me,” Strahd said dryly.

Well… he’d given her permission right? She let go of the breath she was holding and sneezed, loudly, into her elbow. It was over at least, thank the Morning Lord. She rocked on her feet again, then remembered all the times her father had yelled at her to knock it off, calling it a childish gesture. Ayla gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay still.

Strahd eyed her up and down before meeting her eyes again.

“You are intimidated by me,” he said. “Or is it that you fear me?”

That wasn’t it at all. She was just… she was an absolute mess who didn’t know what to feel or what she wanted. What felt safe one moment felt scary the next. Yet they’d embraced, she’d cried in his arms and she was feeling more comfortable around him and  _ that _ was scary. Her father’s words rang in her ears, haunting her thoughts, his voice telling her to go be “the devil’s whore”. Was that what she was doing? Was she just doing what her father wanted again?

“Intimidated would be the better word, I suppose,” she muttered. Not entirely true, but not entirely a lie. Probably?

“Have I done something to intimidate you?” 

“Not particularly…” Ayla really wasn’t certain how or even if she wanted to explain her jumbled thoughts. Besides, why was he so interested in her all of a sudden? Why go through such lengths to punish her father? 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She huffed, setting down the cloth and the book she was holding, and leaning back against the desk.

“Does it matter?” She crossed her arms across her chest and spoke softly, almost wishing he wouldn’t hear. “Everything is intimidating. Even the people supposedly trying to help you seem out to get you so does it matter if you’ve done something to intimidate? It doesn’t matter what you do because none of it makes sense and clearly people can’t control anything in their life otherwise I think people would be… just… better.” 

He raised an eyebrow in a way that was eerily similar to how Lady Watcher always did. How they were both so good at that was beyond Ayla.

“Anything else you’d like to add?” What was that in his voice? Maybe… maybe she’d gone too far, angered him and it was anger he was hiding behind a cool tone. Ayla hugged herself tighter and averted her gaze.

“No, I… that’s it, my lord.”

He sighed and sat down. “I’m going to share my interpretation of that statement of yours, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

She nodded.

“You are scared of your father,” Strahd started counting off on his fingers. “You are scared of the world, and you  _ are _ scared of me.”

Ayla looked at her feet. She didn’t want to be a scared little girl, she was an adult, she was a grown woman and she didn’t want to be defined by fear, but she couldn’t help but admit all of those statements were at least a little bit true. Why must everything be so complicated? Why was she in this situation in the first place and why did Strahd deny her at his castle only to give her his undivided attention now?

“Is there anything I can do to cross my name off that list?” Strahd said and Ayla glanced up at him. He made a small slashing motion with his finger, as if he were crossing his name off an imaginary list. She met his eyes. They were cold. Why? So many questions.

She wanted answers.

_ Figure out what you want and run to it, take hold of it and do not let go, _ Lady Watcher’s words echoed in her mind. Ayla nodded at him. He motioned to the empty space on the couch next to him and she, cautiously, made her way to the couch as well.

“I want honesty,” Ayla said, trying to muster up as much courage as she could. 

“Certainly,” he said as he straightened a few wrinkles out of his shirt. He shifted so he could face her a little more easily. “On one condition.”

Ayla hesitated. “What do you want?”

“Honesty,” he shrugged and smiled at her.

It was hard not to smile back.

“Alright, honesty from both of us,” Ayla said. She tried to suppress the smile as she wanted to appear strong and in control, but she couldn’t help but notice a warmth in her chest.

“That’s all we want, after all. So, you first. What questions do you have?”

“Why did you deny me when I came to ask for a boon?”

His smile faltered. “No small talk, I see.”

“I was under the impression you didn’t like small talk.”

Strahd sighed before moving to the desk and crouching before it. He started pulling open the drawers while Ayla waited. 

“That question is not an easy one to answer,” he said and pulled open another drawer.

“You promised to be honest.”

He grabbed an item from the desk and shoved the drawer closed with his hip. He raised the item in the air, a flask risen in a toast. “And I am a man of my word.”

A flask risen in toast. She couldn’t help but glance away and squirm in her seat. It was irrational, really. It wasn’t like she could expect everyone in the world to stop drinking just because she was uncomfortable with it, but that didn’t stop her from eyeing him as he took a sip.

“Can vampires get drunk?” She blurted out, her knee bouncing nervously.

He looked from her to the flask and back again. “Ah. Your father. No, as far as I’m aware, I cannot get drunk. I enjoyed wine when human and I enjoy wine now.”

Well that brought up a whole other wave of questions. Did that mean vampires could eat things other than blood? Could he eat food? Would he get any nutrition from food? She shook her head and placed her hands on her knee to stop it from bouncing. She was doing it again, trying not to think about important things.

“The boon? Why did you deny me before?” Ayla said, trying to get the conversation pointed in the right direction again.

“Ah, of course,” he said and sat back on the couch and placed his elbow on the armrest. He held his hand up, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth along his index finger and Ayla wondered if it was a nervous tic. Finally he sighed. “It is… difficult for me to express. I did not wish to hurt you.”

“But you did hurt me,” she said quietly. “I needed help and you turned me away.”

She’d had to go back to her father, back to harsh words and hands raised in anger. He turned his head, meeting her eyes, and she saw something beyond the typical chill there. She saw pain. She saw remorse.

“And I am a fool for it,” he averted his gaze.

They didn’t speak for a long moment, Ayla leaning back on the couch as she considered his words, Strahd taking a long pull from the flask.

“Why did you come to me? I assumed it was to heal your wrist, but...” he said.

“Oh,” she said and tried to avoid shifting in her seat. “Yeah, that was it.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on honesty.”

“I… Yes, we did. I originally came to you for help with my father. I thought you might have magic that could heal him, but I saw something in him that I don’t think any magic could heal,” she said, remembering the night she left, the night she saw a monster in her father’s place.

Strahd nodded. “I have no magic that can cure him. A powerful cleric, perhaps, but there are none skilled enough in Barovia.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“So… um, since we’re being honest and all, what is it you want with me?” Ayla asked. Strahd frowned at her.

“What do you mean by that?” he said and brought the flask to his lips for another sip.

The question would burn in her mind for eternity if she didn’t just ask it and get it over with, as much as she loathed to do so. It was embarrassing, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer.

She took a deep breath. “Do you want me to be a concubine?”

Strahd’s eyes widened in shock as he pulled the flask away and started trying to suppress a series of coughs with a mouthful of wine. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as he swallowed, though the coughing kept happening.

“I am so sorry!” Ayla said and leapt from the couch, grabbing a clean cloth from a stack at the side of the room. She brought it to him and he took it gratefully, pressing it to his mouth as the coughs subsided. 

“That was too forward of me,” Ayla said, uncertain what to do with her hands, so she kept reaching out and pulling back as she spoke. “I shouldn’t have asked something like that, please, let’s just forget it ever happened, I am so, so sorry-”

“It’s fine,” he gave another short cough, much less intense than the last. “You surprised me, is all.”

“I ruined your shirt,” she said, noticing then several drops of red wine on the sleeve. “The fabric is white, that’ll never come out… I’m sorry, I can try to-”

“It’s nothing,” he said and took a deep steadying breath. He held the stained sleeve up and used the opposite hand to trace a pattern in the air above it, seeming to connect the dots between the various stains. He said a single word in a language she didn’t know and the stains quickly lifted from the sleeve and shattered into nothing.

That would have made doing laundry  _ so _ much easier.

“What spell was that?” She reached out and touched the sleeve, wondering if she could still feel if the cloth was damp from the liquid. It wasn’t. The expensive fabric was soft and silky, like it had been the night before.

“Not a spell, more a parlor trick. It’s called prestidigitation. Here, hold out your hand,” he said and she obliged. He traced the air above her palm, fingers so close to her hand that she could practically feel his skin on hers. It was a different pattern than before, more intricate and delicate, and said the same foreign word. A small, beautiful red flower appeared in her palm and her jaw dropped. She’d never seen one so healthy, they didn’t grow well in Barovia. She looked up at Strahd in shock before back down at her palm, but the flower was gone.

“Like I said, a parlor trick. Many uses, but it isn’t powerful,” he said and smiled at her. Ayla’s heart started beating faster, which was normally a bad thing, a sign that she should be careful. When had she gotten so close to him, her shoulder leaning into his as she looked up into his eyes? Her mind told her to pull away but she didn’t.

Those eyes had always seemed so cold before, but now there was something else in them. There was a tinge of warmth, not quite a spark, but the warmth of an ember burning low and steady yet somehow fragile. It was something that could be smothered and extinguished at any moment. She couldn’t look away.

His expression softened, the smile fading and the warmth in his eyes dissipating like smoke. “I am truly sorry for not listening to you when we first met. Your pain is the last thing I want.”

That word,  _ want _ , pulled her out of the moment and she scooted away from him on the couch. He hadn't answered her question and she desperately hoped all of this wasn’t a diversion so he didn’t have to answer.

“So, um, what do you want from me?” she said and fiddled with her fingers in her lap.

He chuckled. “I do not want you to be my concubine, that’s for certain.”

Right. She’d been foolish to ask. It was good he didn’t view her in such a light and she didn’t want to find out what the devil did when you denied him a concubine. Ayla frowned at herself, confused at why she was referring to him as the devil again.

“I want companionship,” he said.

Companionship. What did that mean?

“You…” Ayla decided to take a stab in the dark instead of waiting for an explanation. “Want a friend?” She immediately wanted to take it back. It sounded so much more childish than companionship, and by the tensing in his shoulders, she must have said something wrong.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he closed the flask, standing and moving to the desk to place the flask on it. He stood facing away from her, but turned his head so she could see the profile of his face. Light filtered in through the windows, the sunlight dimmed through the clouds and mist, and cast shadows on his features.

“Am I less frightening to you now?” he said quietly, eyes downcast and shoulders tense.

To others in that moment, he may have appeared ominous, tall figure standing half in the light, half in shadow, golden eye seeming to glow in the darkness. But to her, he just seemed sad.

“Yes,” Ayla nodded and was surprised to find it was true. Sure, doubt still creeped in, but she thought that maybe it would do that no matter what. A natural instinct her body pieced together from her father’s broken promises.

He turned to face her, inspecting her features before nodding.

“There is a celebration being planned for Lady Watcher’s birthday, I believe it is in a few days. Would you like to attend with me?” Strahd asked.

Ayla remembered the celebrations in Krezk, the soft music as people conversed and the warm fire as stories were whispered and given life. But her father tainted those memories.

“What are celebrations in Vallaki like?” Ayla tried to sound nonchalant. “Will there be music and stories?”

Strahd tilted his head. “Stories? No. Music, yes. Lively music and good food,” he smiled. “Well, I can’t vouch for the food part myself, but I’m told it is fantastic.”

“Wine?”

“Well, yes, but you don’t have to partake. If things become too raucous, we can step away.”

“Some fun sounds nice,” she gave him a small smile and a bit of that warmth returned. She found she was quite looking forward to it. 

“For the time being, I’m quite tired of being indoors. Care to join me on the balcony? I have a book I’ve been putting off reading.”

The room did still feel very stuffy, though after spending all this time surrounded by books, reading was the last thing on her mind. But she could draw. Her mother was the last thing she’d tried to draw and she hadn’t had much inspiration lately. Perhaps some practice sketches of the city would be nice.

Ayla nodded and headed for the door. “Sure, let me just grab my things from my room.”

“Ah, good, I’ve been meaning to ask. Might you return my cloak? I only brought the one on this trip.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot to return that.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for. I just feel I’ve been missing a certain dramatic flair without it,” he smiled and opened the door for her.

“You do like your dramatic flair,” she said and gave a small curtsey to him in thanks.

“Life wouldn’t be worth living without it,” he sighed dramatically and Ayla laughed.

Strahd closed the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my writing group for their extensive help and willingness to look at my *very* rough drafts of these chapters: hibbidyhai (ffn), S.T. Le (ffn) or ST_Le (ao3), and dispatchwithlove (ao3). Thank you dispatch for your help in making this chapter extra swoon-y.


	8. The Hue of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter that is not included in the story tags. If you don’t feel you need a trigger warning and don’t want it spoiled, go ahead and jump into the chapter. If you feel you may need a trigger warning, I’m including it in the author’s notes at the end of the chapter. Just scroll all the way down and take a look before reading the chapter. I will do this with new chapters if I feel necessary. While I want to tell this story and not restrict myself in how I do so, I do not want to cause unnecessary stress or trauma to anyone.
> 
> Alright, now I'm off to, coincidentally, donate blood :)

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Rahadin said.

“Hm? No, nothing wrong,” Strahd said and continued pacing in the downstairs sitting room.

“Nothing at all?”

“No.”

Rahadin turned his attention back to his book and flipped the page. Strahd stopped for just long enough to inspect Rahadin, checking for dark circles under his eyes or an exhaustion in his posture. He found none.

“Are you feeling well, Rahadin?” Strahd said.

“I am feeling quite rejuvenated after resting.”

Strahd nodded. “Good, good.”

He continued pacing. After a minute, Rahadin closed the book. “With all due respect, my lord, you are going to wear out Lady Watcher’s rug.”

Strahd stopped and raised an eyebrow at Rahadin. Quite bold of him, but Strahd conceded and took a seat. Rahadin opened the book and continued, but it wasn’t long before Strahd felt it necessary to occupy his mind with some other action. What else was he going to do with his time? He started drumming his fingers on the armrest, starting with the pinky, then the ring finger, and so on until each finger had tapped at the wood. Then he started over and did it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

The rhythm of it reminded him of marching, a sound he’d grown very accustomed to in his mortal life. Many of his memories held a certain bitter taste to them, but this was always something that satisfied. It was the sound of progress, the sound forward movement, the sound of-

“Strahd,” Rahadin said through gritted teeth before sighing and correcting himself. “My lord, I am happy to discuss whatever is on your mind for as long as you wish, just please, for the love of Asmodeus, please stop tapping.”

Strahd couldn’t stop the lopsided smirk from creeping onto his face. He rested his elbow on the armrest and propped his head up on his fist.

“You seem to feel very strongly about this, my friend,” Strahd said, making certain to speak more casually. It was a way of giving permission to speak more freely. 

Rahadin’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed. “I apologize, Strahd. I’m just not used to being in Vallaki for extended periods. The crowds, they…”

“Grate on your nerves?”

“Yes.”

Strahd nodded. “I feel similarly.”

“Will we be returning to Ravenloft soon?”

“I don’t know,” Strahd admitted. The thought of leaving Ayla left a hollow feeling in his chest, but he didn’t want to force her to come with him. Even that small thought, that tiny recognition that forcing her to leave was an option, triggered something in that gods-forsaken curse. It wasn’t quite pain, but it made him squirm in his seat, made him want to clear his throat to fill the silence.

_ Think of other things,  _ Strahd reminded himself. Best to avoid such uncomfortable thoughts.

“I… I think I may be courtin her, Rahadin.”

“Ah, the pacing makes more sense, now.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me,” Strahd shot him a sharp glance, but Rahadin just smiled. Strahd couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head as he did so. 

“In all seriousness, I’m not really sure what to do in the meantime. Eternity seems to move slower when I’m looking forward to something. I think it aims to spite me.”

“When are you taking her out?”

“Three days.”

“I can go into town and fetch something new for you to wear? Perhaps not a full wardrobe change, but a new vest would do nicely.”

Strahd nodded as he stood and started pacing again, hands clasped behind his back. “Do so at your earliest convenience.”

“You have not eaten since we left Ravenloft.”

Now that Strahd thought about it, he had been feeling the tell-tale signs of hunger. A restless quality to his muscles, an instinct to move, to hunt, to conquer. Thankfully he didn’t feel the typical weakness in his bones yet, but it likely wouldn’t be long now.

“I have not. I will have to reach out and-”

“I already have someone willing, my lord. I can fetch him now, if you like,” Rahadin stood and straightened the legs of his trousers.

“Thank you,” Strahd was perpetually impressed and grateful that Rahadin was so loyal. “Did they share what boon they desire?”

“They did not.” 

He would have to sort that out first, then. “Bring him.”

Strahd sat down on the couch to wait, drumming his fingers on the armrest, the sound of his pointed nails clacking the wood echoing around him. He didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough, Rahadin was opening the door and leading a middle aged man inside. The man wore tattered clothing, holes starting to wear through at the knees and hems of his trousers. He pulled a woven hat off of his bald head, wringing it in his hands, as he bowed.

“Good afternoon, milord,” the man said. He had a gruff voice, like there were marbles in his throat that he had to talk around. Strahd stood, nodding at him and gesturing for the man to take a seat on the couch, before moving to Rahadin’s side.

“Keep watch outside,” he said quietly. The last thing he wanted was Ayla walking in on him biting into someone’s flesh. They’d had such a wonderful morning and she didn’t seem afraid of him any longer. Ruining that was not something he planned on doing.

Rahadin bowed his head and stepped outside. The door latched closed.

The man sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch, leg bouncing, hands wringing that hat over and over again, jaw clenched. In particular Strahd noticed how the man’s eyes darted around, gaze falling on anything but Strahd. Most people responded similarly to offering Strahd blood but… it bothered Strahd. Why it hadn’t previously, he was unsure.

He sat down next to the man and leaned back, laying his arm across the back of the couch and crossing his legs. “What is your name?”

“Ivan, milord.”

“What boon do you desire, Ivan?”

“I… I just want some clothes for my kids, milord, so they can be warm and stop walking barefoot. I just want them taken care of even if I…” Ivan glanced at Strahd out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back down.

Strahd’s frowned. “If you what?”

Ivan didn’t speak for a long moment. “I want them taken care of even if I die, milord.”

_ He’s afraid I’m going to kill him _ , Strahd thought. If Ivan was coming to Strahd, it meant he had no other avenue. The fact that he asked specifically for what he needed, and not money, spoke wonders for the man’s character. Strahd glanced at the man’s clothes again. There was even a hole tearing between the shoe and the sole. But he didn’t ask for clothes for himself. 

A pain wormed its way into his body as he realized taking this man’s blood, when he was clearly afraid and this was his only option, was no better than plucking a random stranger from their home and biting them without permission. There was an element of exploitation to this moment that Strahd was not a fan of. Though he supposed that depended on what it was a Count’s job was. Was his duty to himself or to the people? One allowed for exploitation and one clearly did not. He figured it was likely the latter, and so this moment brought him pain.

It did feel different, however. It was more than just a slap on the wrist, more than the feeling of a knife in the gut or an itch in his bones. It was an inherent wrongness, a feeling that made him despise what he was and brought upon an inescapable, all-encompassing sense of… despair. 

He hadn’t realized he’d brought his hand up to rub at his chest until that moment and he quickly stood, offering Ivan his hand. Ivan took it, looking confused, and Strahd pulled him to his feet.

“Clothes will be provided for your children. I will see to it,” Strahd said.

“But…” Ivan frowned, still wringing that woven hat. “You don’t want my blood?” 

There was hope in the man’s eyes.

Strahd shook his head and averted his gaze.

“No, I don’t want your blood.”

He could eat later, find someone who he would not be exploiting for his own benefit. Perhaps even someone who did not hate him, someone who was not afraid. Strahd stared at the wall, trying to convince himself that would be possible.

“Thank you, milord,” Ivan said and Strahd could hear the emotion in his voice. “I won’t forget this, I swear to you.”

Ivan left, a bit more pep in his step.

“Rahadin,” Strahd said and he appeared a moment later.

“When you go into town, buy that man and his family new clothes. Several sets for each family member.”

“Did you enjoy your meal, my lord?”

Strahd sighed. “No. I will need to eat after the celebrations.”

“I will make certain someone is available when you are ready.”

“Someone less…” Strahd started, but he wasn’t certain how to finish. What did he want? Someone more willing, someone less afraid? He shook his head and waved dismissively. “Nevermind. Leave me.”

The door latched closed.

* * *

Strahd sat on one of the cushioned chairs in his room, legs crossed, a black button down shirt, his vest open and loose. He swirled a glass of wine in his hand, watching the liquid move. It didn’t quite have the same hue as blood but he took a sip anyway.

Practically tasteless.

A knock came at his door.

“Enter,” he said and a servant pushed the door open. Lady Watcher entered wearing an elegant, high necked red dress. Not quite the same hue as blood. He looked away. The door closed and Lady Watcher sat next to him, reaching for one of the empty glasses on the low table before them. Strahd held his own glass out to her. She raised an eyebrow at him before grabbing it, scooching back in her seat, and taking a sip.

“Champagne du le Stomp,” she said and smiled to herself.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as she sipped at the wine. The hearth in his room burned brightly, but the warmth of a flame never seemed to reach Strahd. He wasn’t cold, but there was always a persistent  _ lack _ of warmth.

“Ayla seems excited for the celebration,” Lady Watcher said. She seemed to be waiting for something.

“I invited her to go with me,” Strahd said.

“Then what are you doing sitting here with an old lady?”

Strahd sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I do not know, Fiona.”

She turned to him and frowned before setting the nearly empty glass of wine down on the table.

“Do you… want to talk?”

“No.”

Lady Watcher stood. “Let me at least help you get ready, then.”

It was getting late, and he certainly didn’t want to give Ayla the wrong idea. He did want to spend time with her, even though he’d been avoiding her since the morning they spent together. It wasn’t just her, he was avoiding everyone, and he wasn’t really certain why. Sitting there and staring at the flames just seemed so much… easier.

But he stood and let Lady Watcher straighten his vest. She started buttoning it for him.

“This is a beautiful vest,” she said.

“Rahadin bought it.”

“The gold embroidery matches your eyes.”

“That’s probably why he bought it.” 

Lady Watcher shook her head. “What I would give for servants half as attentive and loyal as that man.” She moved and picked up his cloak from where it layed on the bed. She handed it to him and he swung it behind him, letting it come to rest on his shoulders.

“I think she likes you, Strahd,” she said as she clasped it for him.

That wasn’t entirely surprising. It wasn’t like reincarnations of Tatyana had all hated and feared him. Marina had been quite taken with him. That had ended with the burgomaster and priest of Berez fearing for her soul and executing her so that Strahd could not have her. He’d flooded Berez, diverting the river and causing most of the citizens to drown. Strahd gritted his teeth at the memory. He’d killed an entire town because two men murdered an innocent.

Would the people of Vallaki do that to Ayla? What would he do if they did?

“I have to go to her,” Strahd said, pulling away, suddenly extremely worried. Yes, Rahadin remained with her during the day and Strahd made certain no intruders came in the night, but if this curse had taught him anything it was that he was fallible, that he could do wrong and did so more often than not. What if someone had already snuck past, used the preparations for Lady Watcher’s birthday as cover, and… and killed…

He needed to be quick. A spell, he needed a spell. Dimension Door to bring him to her location? He didn’t know where she was. Locate Creature, first then, to find her. Both were quick to cast. Strahd reached for the component pouch he always kept on his belt, pulling out a clump of fur from a hound. He’d only need the one component for the location spell. Oh gods above and demons below, what if she was already gone, what if-

**She is safe.**

Strahd froze. He had not heard that voice in some time, half a century perhaps.  _ Where is she? _ He thought.

**Balcony.**

Tatyana had died falling off a balcony, from throwing herself over the walls of Castle Ravenloft. It was irrational, but he couldn’t help but think that Ayla was about to do the same. It was a much shorter fall, perhaps she wouldn’t die from it, but if she landed in just the wrong way...

_ Thank you,  _ Strahd thought and made his way down the hall, leaving a confused Lady Watcher behind him. He put the clump of fur back in the component pouch, though anxiety still clung to his skin and put him on edge.

He stopped before the glass doors at the end of the hall, the ones leading to the common balcony, the ones with faint bits of light from a hazy sunset piercing them, the one with a woman standing on the other side. She faced away from him, looking out at the town as her hands rested on the railing. It didn’t look like she was about to throw herself over the edge so Strahd let his shoulders relax.

He pushed the door open, stepping out into the light and briefly looking at the sunset. Blocked by clouds. Ayla started turning and his eyes shot back to her, black hair blowing lightly in a breeze, her burgundy dress not quite the same hue as blood holding tight to her upper body and flaring out at the hips. Breathing was not a necessity for Strahd, yet his breath still managed to catch in his throat. He could not look away.

She smiled at him, a light blush gracing her cheeks, and Strahd wondered what it would feel like to kiss that blush. Would her skin be warm, would she smile wider?

Or would she throw herself from the walls of Castle Ravenloft?

Strahd looked away. He moved to stand beside her by the railing, putting his hands behind his back and clasping a hand around his wrist. It was a pose he often defaulted to, one he’d been taught by his father.

“You look handsome, my lord,” she said and he felt like a fool. He’d been so absorbed in memories of the past he hadn’t even complimented her. But how to say it now that she’d complimented him first? Would it feel empty? How to make her understand?

“Do you know what I miss most about being mortal?”

“I-” she brushed her hair behind her ear, uncertainty in her words. “I do not, my lord.”

Strahd put his hands on the railing and leaned forward. He nodded to the horizon. “The sun. When at home, I enjoyed staying up late to see the sunset. When I was a general in my father’s armies, I woke up to many beautiful sunrises.”

“I wish I could see one.”

“They are more beautiful than you could possibly imagine. Explosions of warmth and color, pinks, reds, and oranges all playing together in the sky. You see some of it here, but the clouds are so heavy and thick that it simply cannot compare. The sunsets in my memory are… fantastical.”

He took a deep breath and turned to her, making certain to meet her eyes.

“Yet no sunset could possibly compete with seeing you smile.”

She blinked up at him, not quite seeming to register what he’d said, before she started blushing furiously. She shifted on her feet, something he was beginning to notice as a habit, a quirk. Oddly, he also realized it was something her previous incarnations had never done.

As her feet adjusted, she slipped on something, her own feet perhaps, and he caught her elbow in order to help her steady herself again. He hadn’t realized his other hand had gone to her waist until she glanced at it then up at him. She was mere inches from him, the space between felt alive with energy and he wanted so desperately to close that gap, to pull her close, to press his lips against hers, but he refrained.

“Are you ready to leave?” Strahd asked, voice quiet, soft, almost reverent as he gazed down at her. All she did was nod. As much as he hated to do so, he let go of her, instead offering her his arm. She took it, gently placing her palm on the inside of his elbow. It was faint, but he could just barely hear her heart beating quickly. As they began the short walk to the city center, he dared to hope that it was as Lady Watcher said. She was interested in him; perhaps that explained the quickened pulse, the rhythmic drum of blood under her skin.

Gods above, he really needed to eat soon.

* * *

The town was lively, lanterns lighting the square, shadows dancing alongside their vessel, and the people seemed to flow around Strahd like water. Though he could see uncertainty in their faces as he walked, Ayla on his arm, cloak draping out behind him on the cobblestone, they gave bows and nods of respect as he passed. As it should be. Regardless of his… personal struggles, he was still the Count of Barovia, he was still their lord.

Lady Watcher sat on a small stage set up in the square, a stage that was used by the previous burgomaster for all sorts of executions and public humiliations. It was good she had kept it, molded it, made it a symbol of her power and not her predecessor’s fear. Her eyes scanned the crowd and she smiled at Strahd upon spotting him and Ayla.The softe pressure of Ayla’s hand placed on his arm caught his attention, but when his appreciative gaze landed on her, instead of seeing warmth in her eyes he saw apprehension. Looking at the crowd, watching the thrall of people dancing and laughing, she held onto him for support. As a particularly loud laugh rang from a dancer nearby, her hand tensed.

He leaned down and spoke quietly enough that no others would hear. “I’ve made my dramatic entrance. Would you like to move to the edges of the crowd?”

“I don’t mind the crowd, not really. It’s just… overwhelming. There’s so  _ many _ people,” Ayla said.

“Based on the most recent population reports, Krezk is nearing a hundred people. Vallaki’s population is roughly seventeen times that.”

“Vallaki has seventeen  _ hundred _ people living in it?”

Strahd simply nodded and began guiding them toward the stage. There were refreshments and food provided for party goers, but a separate table was set up for the nobility. He strode that direction with confidence, guiding Ayla. He didn’t much care for the food, but there was wine. He felt like he needed a drink.

“Hey,” Ayla said, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you feeling alright? You’re looking a little paler than normal.”

“Death will do that to a man,” he said as he let out a tired sigh.

She didn’t respond, instead just staring up at him with a deadly seriousness to her features. Had that come across as derogatory and snippy instead of humorous?

“That was a joke.”

“Strahd, I’m being serious. Are you feeling alright?”

“It is merely the lighting. I am fine.”

“If you insist…”

“I do.”

She removed the extra hand from his arm and Strahd wondered if he’d done something wrong. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t going to come out and say that he was feeling tired from not feasting on the blood of the living for too long. It didn’t seem like an appropriate conversation topic with someone you were courting. As if on cue, she used her free hand and pulled her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck to the open air. Exposing it to him. He stared a little too long and had to force himself to look forward.

There were a few guards watching over the nobleman’s refreshment’s table and they saluted him as he passed. Ayla let go of his arm completely, moving to inspect and try some of the food. As Strahd motioned for a servant to pour him a glass of wine, he found himself shaking his head at the practice of leaving food out for people to touch and share. He always had preferred a cook serving each person individual meals as opposed to this… buffet. 

The servant bowed his head as he handed Strahd the glass. Strahd took a sip. Instead of the enticing warmth that normally accompanied a fine wine, he was met with a distinct lack of flavor. Instead of the expected satisfaction he normally felt, it simply washed over his tongue instead of rolling and warming over it. Water likely would have been more satisfying to him, in that moment, perhaps it wouldn’t have left him feeling so empty.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” the servant asked.

“What wine is this?”

“Du le Stomp. One of their best years. I would serve you nothing less than the best, my lord.”

Strahd sighed and handed the glass back, still mostly full. There would be no wine for him tonight.

“Strahd?” Ayla called and he couldn’t help but notice how the servant’s eyes shot to her and back at Strahd, certainly fearing for her safety at the informality of her words.

“Yes?” He moved to her side, happy to have a distraction, as she pointed at something on the table. He leaned in, looking over her shoulder, her neck exposed to him again. He could nearly hear the blood rushing.

“What kind of meat is that?”

Blinking and forcing himself to focus again, he picked up the skewer with chunks of meat on it that she indicated. He breathed deeply, taking in its scent. It was difficult to determine with all the spices used, but he knew the smell.

“Wolf meat,” he set the skewer back down.

“People eat  _ wolf _ meat here?” Ayla’s jaw dropped.

“Ah, yes, venison is the most common meat in Krezk. Here it is far easier to hunt the wolves while they are distracted hunting the deer.”

Ayla shook her head in bewilderment. “This town is strange.”

“Are you going to try it? I’ve always been curious, myself.”

“I… think I’ll stick to some of the vegetables over here.”

“To each their own.”

Waiting while others ate was one of his least favorite parts of being a vampire. Such wasted time. He tried to occupy himself by people watching, but their forms as they danced were lackluster. It just seemed to be movement with no purpose to him. He looked up at the sky, hoping to see stars beyond the clouds and mist, but of course he found none.

“What are you thinking about?” Ayla asked as she sidled up next to him. He looked down at her, uncertain how long he’d been gazing at the nothingness above. By the gods, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. That had always been true, yet it still managed to surprise him. The black hair was different than it had always been but… Strahd cocked his head. Were the roots turning red?

“You dye your hair,” Strahd realized.

“Oh, yeah. Haven’t had the money to keep up with it recently,” she said as she reached up and fiddled with a strand of hair. Her posture seemed to deflate, her shoulders sinking. In disappointment, perhaps?

“I apologize, that was merely an observation I made, not what I’d been thinking about.”

“So… what were you thinking about then?” She rocked onto the balls of her feet then back onto her heels.

He turned to face her, giving her his full attention. “Would you like to dance? If you are hungry, you can make up a plate afterward.”

“You dance?”

“Ayla, I was a prince, of course I know how to dance.”

She blinked and shook her head, processing the new information. “You’re a prince?”

“The rumors don’t say that about me, do they?”

“No, they don’t.”

“What do you think of me?”

Ayla looked to the side, running her eyes across the people celebrating to energetic music. “I think this world is brighter than I thought it was.”

Strahd frowned. “I don’t understand the connection to myself.”

“Well,” Ayla said and looked up at Strahd. “I didn’t notice it until I met you. I think that speaks for your character.”

“I can’t possibly take all the credit for brightening your world.”

“You’re right. Rahadin has been particularly cheery as well.”

Strahd laughed. It was real, not forced or subdued, but a real laugh. “Cheery isn’t exactly how I’d describe him.”

She smiled at him and for a moment everything felt right. Hunger, boredom, despair, uncertainty, it was all gone. He prayed she felt the same.

The musicians stopped their tune, abandoning the rhythmic beats of drums in favor of something on a lute and lyre. Not quite somber, but definitely more flowing and appropriate for the ballroom dancing he’d been schooled in.

“About that dance?” Strahd said and held his hand out to her. Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his. He’d been right before. He wouldn’t trade these moments with her for a thousand sunsets.

“I should warn you,” Ayla said as he led her into the crowd of people, all of whom made space for him in deference. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll teach you something simple, basically just walking around in the same space.”

“Doesn’t sound much like dancing.”

Strahd stopped in the middle of the crowd and turned to face her.

“I’ll admit I have ulterior motives,” Strahd said quietly as he directed her left hand to his shoulder and placed his own on her waist, a gap separating them.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What ulterior motive?”

He took a small step forward at the same time he pulled her closer, their bodies only a breath away from each other. Her palm in his, he could feel her pulse quicken and Strahd knew that if his heart still beat, it would have done the same. He dipped his head down close to her ear and spoke quietly so only they could hear.

“I wanted to be near you.”

“You have  _ got _ to stop doing that,” Ayla breathed as her hand fell from his shoulder to his chest. Did she do it on purpose, he wondered? To pull at his heart or had it merely been uncomfortable reaching up to his shoulder?

“What, making you blush?” Strahd chuckled.

“Yes, exactly that! I’m beginning to resemble a tomato.” 

“I make no promises.”

He straightened and started walking her through the steps of a dance, showing her where to move her feet, how to follow his lead, though he did not move her hand. He quite enjoyed how her palm felt pressed against his chest. The dance was simple, and she picked it up quickly.

“You don’t have a heartbeat,” Ayla said as she rubbed her thumb along the fabric of his vest. It was incredibly soothing.

“Did you expect me to have one?”

“No, just an observation.”

“Any others?”

“Sometimes you breathe, sometimes you don’t.”

“I must breathe if I am to speak. Other times it is merely habit, my body remembering the motion even though it does not need it.”

“Your breath catches a lot when you’re around me.”

“Am I that obvious?” Strahd let his cheek rest against her temple and much to his delight, she leaned into the touch, sighing as they moved with the music. He nearly melted right then and there.

“I wasn’t certain, at first. I was just really confused and didn’t know why you were helping me. But I get it now. You’re lonely.”

“Ayla, it isn’t just that I’m lonely. If it were that simple, there are plenty of people in Barovia I could fraternize with. I told you I wanted companionship, but that isn’t entirely accurate.” Strahd pulled her tight against him, hand clutching at her waist in fear she would somehow be yanked away. He didn’t dare pull away to look at her for fear he would see hatred or disgust in her eyes.

“I… I want to be happy,” he admitted quietly, both to Ayla and to himself. It was a truth he’d known for a long time, since long before Hayden came and cursed him, but the difference was that now he didn’t believe he deserved it. “I’ve always thought that hope is the armor of fools yet when I’m with you I find myself eagerly donning that armor. I find myself hoping, Ayla.”

He could feel her breathing against him, he could practically hear her mulling over her thoughts. They swayed to the music for several long moments, it could barely count as dancing by that point, and worry crept into his mind. Had he pushed too far, made her uncomfortable? He’d thought… he’d thought that maybe she felt the same, but what if he was wrong? The silence weighed on his shoulders and for a moment, he debated casting detect thoughts. He was rewarded for that consideration with a feeling like he was being punched in the gut.

He winced, pulling away from Ayla to press a hand to his stomach. A shock ran through his muscles, the hunger not making it any easier.

“What’s wrong?” Ayla asked, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “At least, I will be in a moment.”

“I didn’t think you could be hurt. You’re immortal… right?”

“I can still be hurt. I bleed like any other man, but you are correct. I cannot die.”

“But what if someone cuts your head off or you burn to death, how can you recover from something like that?”

Strahd straightened, breathing through the last remnants of pain. “I do not wish to discuss this right now.”

There must have been something harsh in his voice that he hadn’t noticed, for she pulled her hands back from him.

“I apologize, I won’t concern myself with it any longer,” she said, suddenly so formal. That worried Strahd. It felt like she was pulling away and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Ayla, I did not mean to sound angry. It’s just that I made quite the declaration, and while I understand if you are asking these questions to avoid that, I would still like to hear your response. We can speak of the intricacies of immortality and death at a later date, if you so desire.”

She glanced up at him before taking a steadying breath and rubbing her eyes. “You did nothing wrong. Still haunted by… by my father, I suppose.”

The air between them felt vast all of a sudden. Strahd hated it, hated how that damn curse had broken the moment between them. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He took a cautious step forward. Though she did not flinch or step back, she stared down at her hands clasped before her. Strahd reached up, using a finger to gently lift her chin and look her in the eyes.

“Please tell me, Ayla, if I am pushing you or if things are moving too quickly. I want you to be happy as well,” Strahd said quietly, knowing well she deserved happiness far more than he. “If you do not think I can provide that, then so be it. I will leave you be.”

This was it. This would be the turning point. Whatever fragmented pieces of his soul remained cried out in agony at the possibility of watching Ayla walk away, of losing her  _ again _ . The old him wouldn’t have allowed it, the old him would have imposed his will upon hers. But he didn’t want that any longer. He could see now how his actions had caused her pain in the past and he didn’t want that. How true his words rung in his ears, that he wanted her to be happy. 

“I-” Ayla started but paused. “I can’t know that right now. I can say that I’m happy right now. Why don’t we just see how things go? We could have breakfast together tomorrow, on the balcony. Oh, wait, maybe not breakfast. Um…”

“What about a ride by the lake? We can take the carriage horses.”

She nodded as she smiled up at him. So beautiful. If he could freeze time and live out eternity in that moment, he would. Did she glance at his lips? He wanted so desperately to pull her into a kiss but… he was afraid. It was a striking realization. He’d never admitted to being afraid before, yet here he was, realizing just how truly and utterly terrified he was at ruining everything.

So instead he took her hand in his, bowing to her, brushing his lips over her knuckles before gently pressing them to her fingers. “I wait with bated breath, my lady.”

Ayla blushed as he let go and the words spilled out quickly, “Strahd, what did I say about making me look like a tomato?”

“I seem to recall not making any promises about that. Besides, I rather think your blush resembles that of a rose.”

“Everyone is staring,” she said and fanned her face. Strahd looked up at the people around them, all of them fumbling to look elsewhere as he caught their eyes.

“Your point being?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He cocked his head at her. “Why should it?”

That seemed to befuddle her. She breathed deeply and set her jaw.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.”

To his surprise, no, to his delight, she took his hand and directed it back to her waist before intertwining her fingers with his own. She placed her free hand on his chest again. There was no hesitation as their bodies pressed against each other.

“Now quick,” she said. “Teach me something more complicated before I remember that seventeen hundred people are staring at me dancing with the Count of Barovia.”

Yes, dancing had been a wonderful idea, indeed.

* * *

Strahd flung open the doors of Lady Watcher’s home, Rahadin trailing behind. Ayla and Lady Watcher had wanted to remain at the celebrations for a time longer, conversing amongst themselves as they listened to more of the music. That was fine with Strahd. He’d made a decision.

“Rahadin, do you have someone else willing to give blood ready?” Strahd said as he unclasped his cloak, pulling it free of his shoulders and draping it over his forearm.

“I will need a few minutes to retrieve her, but yes, I do,” Rahadin held out his hand. Strahd let him take the cloak.

“Excellent. I’ll be in my room.”

Strahd would not let himself starve any longer. What did it matter if the people that came to him were worried or nervous? Was he supposed to do, give all of his wealth to the people and leave none for himself? Hadn’t he been generous enough already? He’d adjusted laws and taxes to be more lenient on the people, he’d locked away all the vampire spawn he’d created so they couldn’t run amuk and draining people, he didn’t kill anyone by drinking their blood anymore, he even offered people boons in exchange for their blood. Perhaps Ayla was correct, perhaps Barovia had become a brighter place and perhaps he was even to thank for that. So there was no point in torturing himself any longer, punishing himself for things he’d already mended.

The hearth in his room was cold, but all it took was a quick incantation and a flick of the wrist for a bolt of fire to shoot from his hand and ignite the wood. He reclined on the comfortable couch and settled in to wait. 

Rahadin, competent as ever, did not take long. The couch faced away from the door, so he did not see anyone enter, instead hearing the door creak open and closed again followed by light footsteps. A young woman rounded the couch and curtseyed. She left her brown hair down, resting in front of her shoulders, and she wore a well-made commoners dress. By his estimation, she was younger than Ayla by a few years at most.

“Hello, my lord, I hope you had a good evening,” she said as she stood near the hearth.

“I did,” Strahd smiled as he thought of Ayla.

“I saw you dancing with someone, she seemed wonderful.”

“She is. But speaking of my romantic interests is not why you’re here. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Danya, my lord.”

“Danya, what boon is it you desire?”

“If you could spare 20 gold pieces, I would be forever grateful,” she bowed her head in respect to him before looking up and meeting his eyes. She seemed nervous, but also unafraid of him. Perhaps, in his time since being cursed by Hayden, the rumors swirling in Vallaki had lessened? Perhaps the young were less affected by the wrongdoings of the past?

“Why do you need this money?”

“Oh, I have to pay rent, my lord, and manual labor isn’t quite providing enough to cover my living expenses. I could take another job, but I already feel exhausted by the end of the day.”

Strahd nodded, feeling good about the situation. By her own admittance, this wasn’t her only option, just the one she preferred. There was no exploitation in this transaction.

“A measly sum. I will gladly give it to you.”

She sighed in relief and smiled at him. “Oh, thank you, my lord, that is a relief to hear.” She plopped down on the couch to his right. “Uh, should I pull my hair back?”

He waved her closer with his hand and she scooted over on the couch. Now right beside him, he could hear her heart beating and he was hit with a rush of energy, that urge to move, to feed, an ache in his muscles as they readied themselves to leap. Strahd brushed her hair back gently, his fingertips touching Danya’s neck and he could  _ feel _ the blood rushing underneath the skin. Weeks without feeding, without drinking, left him anxious, so he didn’t wait much longer.

“Turn your head that way,” he said quietly.

“Like this?” She obeyed, turning her head away and giving him much better access. He used his right hand to cup her neck and pull her closer, pull that exposed flesh to his lips. Oh how it flowed beneath his touch, her life source, her blood so close to him.

He hesitated for just a moment, waiting to see if the curse would rear its ugly head, a punishment for a crime even though Strahd knew he was committing no crime. No ache, no pain, no nausea or disgust filled him. Strahd hummed in satisfaction. Not wanting to wait a second longer, he opened his mouth and pressed his fangs against Danya’s skin. This had always been his favorite part of biting someone. Not the blood, no, it was the way a person’s skin tensed as it tried to resist and push back before caving under his will, teeth piercing. Though he no longer revelled in watching a person’s eyes as they died, he could still revell in this.

Danya’s skin gave way like all others before, two perfect gashes in her neck as she reached up and clung to Strahd’s shirt and winced slightly. Strahd pulled back, watching as the blood began to pool in those two small imperfections in her flesh.

“The worst is over,” he hummed at her and some of the tension left her body, though she still clung to him. “If you start to feel faint, you must inform me.”

She nodded, causing the pooling blood to start to trail down her neck in slow streams of red. Well, he wouldn’t have any of that wasted. He pressed his tongue to the blood, licking up the trail it left, feeling it coat his tongue. It was so refreshing, so much sweeter than any wine he’d ever tasted and he didn’t wait another second before pressing his mouth to the wounds and drinking freely. The warm blood began to pour into his mouth and he closed his eyes, savoring the taste and smooth texture.

Danya tapped a finger against his collarbone. “Beginning to feel uncomfortable, my lord. Not dizzy, just uncomfortable.”

Strahd opened his eyes, uncertain how long he’d been sitting there. A few minutes perhaps. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket before pulling back, replacing his mouth with the cloth against her skin.

“Keep pressure there,” he said, directing her hand to press down on the cloth.

Strahd used magic to send a quick message to Rahadin informing him to come retrieve the woman. He appeared a few moments later in the door.

“Danya, go with my chamberlain. He will bandage your neck, get the cooks to make you something to eat, and give you your payment.”

She smiled at him and whispered a quick thank you before standing and making her way out of the room. Strahd sighed and leaned back on the couch as he put his feet up on the small table in front of him. Though he’d feel fuller if she’d let him drink more, it had been a satisfying meal and a wonderful evening.

When was the last time he’d had a  _ good _ day? Not just a productive day, but one in which he felt… happy, hopeful. It had been far too long. He let himself linger there revelling in the feeling, long enough that Rahadin came and informed him that Danya had left. Long enough that Rahadin said he was returning to the celebrations to make certain Ayla was safe and escort her home.

The hearth still burned before him, but as always, he couldn’t quite feel it. Cold, fresh air though, that he knew he could feel. He stood and made his way to the tall mirror in the corner of his room. He made sure there was no blood staining his shirt or on the corners of his mouth. There wasn’t. It wasn’t difficult to stay neat and tidy if one was careful while drinking blood. He was about to leave when he noticed something. Leaning closer to the mirror, the flames of the hearth the only lightsource, he noticed his cheeks were starting to sink and concave, his skin was just a hint lighter than it normally was, and the gold in his eyes was duller than normal. All very slight changes, but proof nonetheless he’d waited too long between meals. They were easy for him to see, but he was surprised, and a little impressed, that Ayla had noticed something was off.

No matter, his vitality would return in short order. He straightened his vest before leaving his room and walking down the hallway to the balcony. It would be nice to feel the chilled air on his skin. As he leaned on the balcony, he could see the lights streaming out from the town center, like a little sun hidden away between buildings. The music was dying down, slowing and quieting. It wouldn’t be long before the festivities ended altogether and-

“Count Strahd,” a voice said in a loud whisper. Strahd looked down, searching for the source and finding a man hunched over between two bushes down below.

“I appreciate the interest, but I’m in no mood to be courted like a maiden in a tower,” Strahd said, amused. He could see the man blush even from the second story.

“That’s not- I’m not-”

“Why are you here then?”

“I must speak with you,” the man glanced around nervously, but Strahd could neither see, hear, or sense anyone else nearby. 

“I do not recognize you. Who are you to make demands of me? Speak with my chamberlain and perhaps we can have a discussion indoors like civilized people,” Strahd turned to leave.

“Did a young woman come to you tonight? Requesting gold as a boon, somewhere around 20 gold pieces?” 

Strahd hesitated. “So she’s a gossip. What concern is that to me?”

“I think she was forced, my lord.”

Was this a lover of hers or something, jealous she’d gone to the most powerful man in Barovia instead of him? Was he trying to pit Strahd against her somehow? Regardless, this man had piqued Strahd’s curiosity. Not many would call out to him on a balcony in order to speak with him. 

Strahd breathed in through his nose and as he exhaled, his body puffed into mist. He rolled across the balcony, slipping through the gaps in the rails, and let himself drift to the ground in front of the man. There he coalesced, sinew and bone reforming, to stand before his gentleman caller.

“Speak,” Strahd commanded.

The man did not jump or flinch at Strahd’s disappearing and reappearing act, though he did continue to glance around as if someone were following him.

“I’m taking a risk here. My family doesn’t trust you, never have, but I’m going out on a limb in believing that maybe you aren’t so bad anymore,” he said. Strahd raised an eyebrow and the man bowed in apology. “No offense intended, I apologize, I didn’t mean to-”

“Out with it already.”

“Yes, my lord, sorry. The other day I heard some people talking about prostitutes-”

“Prostitution is not illegal,” Strahd crossed his arms.

“No, but blackmailing or intimidating citizens is, right?”

“Correct.”

“Well, I overheard some men talking about their girls, about how they needed to pay off their debt. One of the men—he had a nasally voice—said that one of the girls was so desperate not to be a whore that she was willing to go to you. I think I know who they were talking about, and I know that her parents just recently died and she has nowhere to go.”

Strahd clenched his jaw. “Continue.”

“Well, it’s just that… she came to me when her parents died, and she didn’t look so good. Suddenly she stopped visiting me and when I saw her again, she was wearing new clothes and said she had somewhere to stay. She seemed really happy. But last week, I saw her again and she… she seemed really stressed and was worried about losing her home.”

“Was her name Danya?”

The man nodded. Strahd clasped his hands behind his back to hide how they’d formed into fists and how his nails were digging into his palms.

“Someone is sexually exploiting young women by giving them room and board then demanding they pay off their debt. Their other option is to come to me.”

Strahd felt ill. He remembered how she’d been nervous, but not about him. She’d been nervous she would have to go have sex with strange men, she’d been nervous about being exploited and used. Though he’d been nothing but kind, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d taken part in this disgusting practice happening in Vallaki. She’d seemed so relieved, so happy. They’d likely brainwashed her into believing they were helping her. It was an odd feeling. Before Hayden had cursed him, a revelation like this wouldn’t have bothered him as much. Yes, he’d still consider it illegal, but it wouldn’t have affected him like this.

The man let out a loud sigh and his shoulders sank, like a huge weight had been lifted from him. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

“That is definitely illegal.”

“So you’ll do something about it?”

“Yes,” Strahd nearly growled the word out. These people would pay. He’d see to it. “Where are you staying? I may need to contact you again.”

The man tensed. It was subtle and Strahd almost missed it, but it was there. A hesitation, a reluctance. Why didn’t he want to share where he lived? Did he worry Strahd would kill him in the middle of the night or something equally barbaric?

“You, uh, you can find me at the Blue Water Inn, most days,” he finally said and Strahd relaxed. He likely was just worried about telling a vampire where to find him. “But there’s something else, my lord.”

“What?”

“About a week ago, a body washed up in the lake. A girl, maybe seventeen. She… she wasn’t in good shape.”

A part of Strahd didn’t want to hear the details, but the logical part of him understood he needed to know. “How was she found?”

“Um. She was naked, my lord, arms chained behind her back. She’d clearly been beaten, the lake doesn’t have much current so I doubt she’d been thrown against rocks or something, and there were copper pieces shoved in her mouth.”

Strahd was horrified. How had he not known things like this were happening in Barovia, happening right under his nose? Why hadn’t Lady Watcher been informed of this?

“It’s a message, then, about what happens to those who refuse to pay their debt.”

The man stared at the ground. “That’s what I was worried about.”

“I’ll be in contact. Leave the premises immediately,” Strahd said before returning to mist and appearing again on the balcony. He watched the man leave.

The memory of how he’d savored that woman’s blood replayed in his mind, how he’d run his tongue and lips across her neck. Had others done the same, forcing her to do things she hadn’t wanted in fear of homelessness and death? Had other women come to him before in a similar state? Had they travelled all the way from Vallaki to Castle Ravenloft to give him blood so they wouldn’t have to be raped? Just how often had he unknowingly participated in these illicit activities? Strahd’s stomach turned and he suddenly felt very unsteady on his feet as he realized he didn’t know the answer to his questions. So many had come to him, man or woman, young or old. He couldn’t possibly know.

He needed to sit down, that was all. He needed to get to his rooms and sit down and think this through, plan, figure out his next steps. Trying to stand upright, trying to maintain an air of composure, he pushed open the balcony doors into the hallway. It wasn’t far. Ten paces at most. A breeze, really.

Danya’s hands on his chest, wincing as the biting hurt her. How many others had forced something similar upon her? Strahd stumbled, bracing himself against the wall as he took deep breaths. Perhaps laying down and trying not to think about it would be best. He wouldn’t be of any help in a state like this. It would pass within a few minutes if he could just lay down.

The sound of footsteps caught his attention and he looked up. Ayla arrived at the top of the steps and smiled when she saw him. Her smile faltered. He could only imagine what state he appeared in, leaning against the wall, breaths quick and sharp, hunched over as he tried to steady himself. He tried to straighten, but faltered as Ayla started rushing toward him, concern etched in her features.

He remembered how he’d found her, homeless, desperate, no place to go. Yes, she’d already passed through Vallaki, but Strahd couldn’t be certain how far these criminal activities stretched. Were things like this happening in the village of Barovia as well? Would these despicable people have forced Ayla into having sex with strange people? If he hadn’t gone on that trip to Krezk, if he hadn’t seen her on the road, would it have been her body in the lake? Would it have been her being violated? 

He tried desperately to force those images from his mind as a lump formed in his throat. He focused his gaze on his bedroom door and straightened as much as he could before starting to walk. She was by his side quickly, hands gently grabbing his elbow and arm, trying to help steady him.

* * *

Ayla did not miss how his eyes darted away from her as she approached, how he focused on a spot in the distance.

“What’s wrong? Can I help? Are you hurt?” Ayla asked, worrying that someone had been able to attack and injure him. She saw no blood, though it could be hard to tell when he was wearing all black.

“I’m fine,” Strahd said, but she saw how his jaw was clenched and tense.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Strahd hesitated, eyes glancing down at her then back up. “... I just need to lay down.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I can help with that. Here, you can use me to balance and I’ll open the door for you.” She lifted his arm and draped it over his shoulder. She looked up at him as she took a step with him, and though he still wouldn’t really look at her, she noticed a cold sweat on his brow. He looked so pale, so ill.

He removed his hand from the wall to press against his stomach and the one around her shoulders tensed. Ayla wrapped her own arm around his waist, hoping to provide some sort of comfort. She had no idea what was wrong, but he was clearly in pain and she had no idea what to do.

They reached his bedroom door and Ayla turned the handle for him.

“I can manage on my own from here,” he mumbled and stumbled into his room. She hovered at the doorway, torn between obeying him as the Count of Barovia or following him as a friend. No one should have to be alone when they’re in pain, she’d been alone in it for far too long.

He got to the middle of the room and his eyes seemed to hone in and focus on the couch. The fire was lit, shadow and light dancing across him, discomfort clear on his face.

It happened quickly. He wavered on his feet one last time before collapsing to his hands and knees, his body heaving, hunching over, and blood spilled from his mouth. Ayla didn’t remember screaming, nor did she remember running and falling to her knees beside him, but there she was. The blood pooled on the ground as he took shallow breaths, the red spreading and staining her dress. Instinct told her he was dying, that blood pouring from someone’s mouth was one of the worst things that could happen to a person, and she placed one hand on his back and the other on his chest, trying to help steady him as he shook violently again and more blood spilled out of him.

Rahadin appeared out of thin air a few feet away, sword drawn and in a fighting stance, before his eyes took in the scene before him. He dropped his sword, the metal clanging on the wood.

“I- I don’t know what happened, he was struggling in the hallway and then-” Ayla said, trying to speak around a growing lump in her throat. Rahadin shot her a glare, so unlike his normally calm features and she blinked in surprise.

“Leave,” Rahadin spat. “I will care for him.”

His body shook under her hands and his breathing was ragged. She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to leave him, I don’t-”

“I did not ask what you wanted!” Rahadin’s voice dripped with fury. “You have no right to see your Count in such a state. You will leave, now!”

Ayla jumped as hands grabbed her arm and she turned to find Lady Watcher trying to lift her to her feet.

“Come, my dear, Rahadin is not someone you wish to test,” Lady Watcher said calmly. Ayla looked from Strahd’s quivering form up to Rahadin, his posture so clearly showing disdain for her presence. She complied, standing as Lady Watcher tugged and guided her out of the room. Rahadin followed, giving her one last glare before shutting the door in her face.

It was quiet in the hallway, though she could hear liquid splatter onto the ground beyond the door one last time and her stomach turned.

“He’s… he’s vomiting blood. That can’t be good, right?” Ayla asked, her voice shaky.

“Strahd is immortal, Ayla. Probably just… ate something bad.” She rubbed a hand on Ayla’s back.

“Your dress is stained. Let’s get you something else to wear.”

Ayla nodded but found it difficult to move her limbs, instead just staring at the door, trying to convince herself that Rahadin could handle it. She felt Lady Watcher tugging at her shoulders and Ayla’s feet finally began to move. Eyes glancing down, she realized her hands were trembling.

As if she were a world away, Lady Watcher’s voice came again. “Come, dear. There’s nothing you can do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of human trafficking and rape.


	9. Somewhere in the Svalich Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a little side chapter so Live2Ride2Live has something to hopefully cheer them up and tide them over until I post a longer chapter this Saturday! Though, of course, Barovia isn't exactly "cheery"...

Sutha turned over in her sleep, smacking her dry lips and wincing slightly as her tusks managed to poke her upper lip. Other half orcs found pride in their tusks, but Sutha always found that they got in the way of things. Eating was certainly a messy endeavor, and when she traveled, many people found it difficult to understand her accent. She groaned as her muscles complained, body aching from all the nights spent sleeping on the ground. She did have a bedroll, though it didn’t do much other than keep her clothes free of dirt and dust. Most of the time, at least. This was not one of those times. As she wiggled, trying to get comfortable, she got a faceful of dirt and something itching and poking at her cheek. She frowned and lifted her head, staring at the ground like it had said something offensive. Huh, pine needles. She picked a few up and rubbed them between her fingers.

There was no bedroll beneath her.

She sat up abruptly, fully expecting to hit her head against the fabric of her small tent, but nothing happened. In fact, not only was her bedroll gone, but so was her tent. And her pack, and her coat, and her shoes. All around her were towering trees with branches that seemed to stretch and claw at each other, their dark forms reaching out amidst mist that curled in response. Even though hazy daylight illuminated the forest, her visibility was severely limited in all directions. Any creature with better senses than her could be lurking just beyond. Killian lay not far away, his snores the only sound in the clearing. She’d wondered many times if all humans snored so loudly.

Sutha gritted her teeth and prepared a spell, fire dancing between her fingers, as she reminded herself to stay focused. She moved to her feet, crouching, ready to dodge if someone leapt at her, but no attack came. El had camped closer to her than Killian the night before, on her left. She turned and saw El, but now a tree stood between them. She eyed it, remembering the time they’d been traveling in the forest outside Waterdeep and a tree had suddenly lifted itself from the ground, dirt falling from the roots that became its legs, as thick branches tried to crush them. Treants weren’t common, but it was the only thing she could think of that would cause a tree to suddenly appear like that. She rounded it, walking as quietly as she could toward El. 

A small branch broke under her foot and Sutha winced. Usually she was fairly good at moving quietly despite her size, but the forest was just so quiet that the noise seemed to echo. El suddenly rolled back on her shoulders, pulling her legs in then extending them up and using the momentum to leap to her feet in a defensive stance, fists held out before her. Sutha blinked, always a little impressed and surprised at just how nimble El was. She wasn’t a full-blooded elf, but Sutha certainly wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

El’s eyes scanned the immediate vicinity, but when she found no immediate threat, her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Where’s my tent?” El said in a hushed tone.

“No clue,” Sutha said, though talking quietly was completely different from moving quietly. Whispering was difficult when you had two large teeth jutting out of your jaw. “Stolen maybe?”

“You’re suggesting a thief stole my tent, my bedroll, my pack, and even my shoes all without waking me?” She scoffed. “If that’s what happened, I’m just going to hang up my adventuring coat now, I don’t deserve it.”

“What other explanation is there?”

“Uh, magic?”

“What magic takes our things from us like this?”

El gave her a weird look. “We've been affected by illusion or sleep spells before."

Oh, right. Duh.

“Yeah. I don’t really know anything about those sorts of spells, though,” Sutha said and rubbed the back of her head. It was embarrassing sometimes, how she could forget things like that so easily.

El walked over to Kilian and nudged him with her bare foot. "Oi, rise and shine."

His eyes opened lazily, blinking the sleep away, before they shot wide open.

"The trees are different," Killian said. Sutha gazed up at the branches, trying to understand what he meant.

"Yeah, I noticed that, too,” El said. “We weren't anywhere near an evergreen forest when we went to sleep.”

Oh, yeah that made sense. And it also made her incredibly anxious. This wasn't some simple robbery. They all went silent, looking around at their surroundings, and without Killian’s snoring, silence permeated the air around them. No wind blew through the branches, no birds chirped above them, no critters scurried through the underbrush.

Instinctually, she grasped the quartz she kept on a leather cord around her neck, spoke an incantation in draconic with the associated hand motion, and felt herself enveloped in magic. It was like water being dumped on her head and covering her, but it wasn't cold and it didn't get her wet. The magic shimmered ever so slightly over her skin.

She tried to ignore how even the spoken incantation seemed to be swallowed up by the mist.

"My shoes are gone, but I still have my arcane focus," Sutha said, hoping that giving them as many clues as possible would help them piece it all together since she wasn’t having much luck doing that.

Killian sat up and rubbed his head. He wiggled his feet, which did have leather boots on them.

"I wore my shoes to bed, but-" Killian cut himself off, eyes widening as he looked around frantically but found nothing. His shoulders deflated. "My lute is gone. I'm going to be practically useless."

El gave him a hard pat on the shoulder. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you'll make excellent bait."

"Portia, you wouldn't make me be bait, right?" Killian said and looked over his shoulder to find no one. He frowned.

"She was on watch after me,” Sutha said, glancing around nervously now.

"Portia? Portia!" He said, forgoing any attempt at being stealthy. Sutha wasn’t even certain if he’d registered what she’d said. She couldn’t really blame him for worrying about Portia though, considering how close they were.

"Guys?" Portia called out, her voice echoing from somewhere beyond the treeline. "You should probably come see this!"

Killian was charging off toward the sound of Portia's voice in an instant, his body swallowed by the mist.

"Shit, there goes our bait," El said.

"That isn't funny." Sutha gave her a disapproving sideways glance before jogging after Killian. "But I know you're just scared."

"So you would rather stay alone in the spooky forest?"

"Uh, no the group is preferable!"

That was good, Sutha didn’t really want to be alone in these woods anyway. It was starting to make her skin crawl and her hair stand on end.

They found Killian standing in a small clearing not far away, his hands up and palms forward. As they approached, they could see Portia sitting up against a tree on the other side of the clearing, still in her plate armor, modified to fit her halfling form, and sheathed greatsword laying across her lap. A half dozen wolves stood around her.

It certainly wasn’t uncommon to encounter wolves while traveling, but Sutha had never before seen them standing as they were. They were spaced perfectly in a half circle around Portia, the one directly in front of her twice as large as the others, nearly as tall as Sutha herself, but none of them seemed ready to pounce. They stood calmly with their gazes fixed on Portia and their muscles relaxed.

"They've been like this for half an hour at least," Portia said in an even tone, her eyes never leaving the massive wolf right in front of her. "I woke up here alone, thought I might have been dreaming." Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword.

“We’ve faced worse than a pack of wolves before,” Killian said in a light hearted tone. “This is no big deal. Just let me get over to you and-”

Sutha grabbed his shoulder and shook her head. "This isn't normal for wolves. They could be rabid or-"

"Controlled by magic," Portia finished. "I don't know if you can see it from there, but there's really faint wisps coming from their eyes, almost like smoke."

"So we fight," El said.

"And get Portia killed? They'll leap for her first!" Killian said in an angry whisper.

"Oh come on, she's in armor and still has her sword. She'll fare far better than you."

Sutha began making her way around the edge of the clearing, stalking the perimeter like she was a wolf herself. She kept her distance as she inched closer to Portia, watching the wolves’ posture as she did so. But they remained calm and relaxed. When she reached Portia’s side, she offered her hand and helped Portia to her feet.

"If something is controlling them, then it's safe to assume that they are watching and listening. So," Portia said, taking a step forward and meeting the largest wolf's eyes as they trailed faint wisps of black. "Friend or foe?"

An otherworldly voice whispered in the air around them, carried by a breeze and echoing between the trees.

**Foe.**

Sutha cursed in orcish as the wolves’ posture shifted, muscles tensing, hackles raising, lips curling back to reveal sharp canines. The largest one, likely a dire wolf, leapt for Portia as three others circled and tried to nip at her feet. Portia kicked at one of the three and it yelped as her armored foot connected with its neck, falling backward into the other two. Sutha managed to lift her arm to shield her face, the dire wolf latching onto her armored forearm instead of her skull.

Sutha moved to cast a spell and aid her, but she caught sight of two in the corner of her eye. She turned, directing the hand motion and incantation at her new rivals instead, three fist sized balls of fire erupting from her palm. Two hit the one on the left, leaving scorch marks across its face and on its neck. It whimpered and fell. The third ball of fire missed the second wolf and it jumped up at her, but the Mage Armor from before did it’s job, the teeth of the wolf grazing her but not causing any harm.

Portia took a smaller wolf out, cleaving downward with her greatsword almost cutting through the entirety of the neck.

“You wanna go? Let’s fuckin’ go!” El said and Sutha looked up just in time to see her friend punching a wolf square in the jaw.

“Some help would really be nice right about now!” Killian said through gritted teeth, prone on the ground as he held a wolf at bay, its jaws snapping dangerously close to his face.

Portia and Sutha put their backs together as several wolves circled them.

“Can you get us out of here?” Portia said.

Sutha just grunted as she prepared another spell, only needing an incantation for this one. She felt energy crackling inside her, like lightning alive in her bones, like a storm brewing in her blood, pressure building until _pop_.

Portia and Sutha disappeared from their spot surrounded by wolves, appearing directly next to Killian and the wolf on top of him. Thunder erupted from the clearing, radiating from the space they had occupied moments before, the remnants of the storm the spell built up in her. That pulse of thunder threw two smaller wolves back, their bodies smashing into tree trunks. They did not get up again. The dire wolf was pushed back and appeared injured, but it was quickly turning and approaching again. Unfortunately, the thunder would also be audible from quite a distance, but she wasn’t going to let Killian’s throat be torn out just to avoid a little noise. Portia swung her blade at the wolf on Killian, lodging it deep into the beast’s forehead. It fell limp on top of him, and Portia had to yank it free.

“Thanks!” He gave a thumbs up from underneath the corpse.

“Anything for you, my love,” Portia smiled, but she was already focused on the next enemy. But Sutha could see the tension in her friend’s face, could see it in how Portia kept glancing back at Killian. Normally he was very powerful, but not only was he incapable of casting spells without an instrument, he also had no weapon since all of their packs had disappeared. They’d have to remedy that soon, but for the time being, the four of them stood back to back in the clearing as they spotted more dire wolves lurking in the woods, the mists obscuring their forms as they prowled and circled.

They were surrounded, alone and lost in an unfamiliar forest, the eerie silence of the woods broken only by the growling of beasts and their own heavy breathing. Despite them being merely beasts of the woods, Sutha was beginning to suspect it wasn’t going to be an easy fight.

“Together?” El said.

“Together minus me, preferably,” Killian said.

“ _Together_ ,” Portia insisted.

Sutha grunted in approval as she let more magic build inside her, preparing for whatever may come their way.


	10. Bold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it ;)
> 
> EDIT AS OF 11/01/20: Don't panic! I haven't stopped writing. I needed a short break and now I'm trying to write ahead 2-3 chapters before I post again. For NaNo this month I'm writing a bunch for this story and some for an original vampire story, so you'll definitely see more from me, just hang in there! I apologize for the wait, but you can hopefully expect new chapters again within the next couple weeks.

Morning came and went, the hazy light of day providing her no comfort as she paced in the halls, haunting them like a ghost. She tried to busy herself with things, reading, drawing, walking outside, watering the shriveled bushes outside Lady Watcher’s home, but it all felt hollow. She wanted to check on him, to talk to him, but as midday passed, and the afternoon passed, she had a distressing realization. Strahd was not coming out of his room. 

As the sun lingered low behind the mists, evening nearly upon them, she found herself gravitating toward Strahd’s room more and more. She should just knock, stop this insanity, he’d probably answer and say that everything was fine, he was simply handling a very important matter. Maybe he’d ask for her help, or her company.

She stopped before the door, raising a fist to knock but she hesitated.

Maybe he’d say he was fine. But what if he said he wasn’t? She started pacing again, up and down the upstairs hallway. But he said he wanted to be happy, that he didn’t want to be alone, right? She stopped before the door again and took a deep breath. She should just knock. Get it over with. Yes, that was the logical thing to do. But she found herself shaking her head and pacing again. 

If she kept this up, her pacing may draw his attention. That was probably what was going to happen. He’d hear her, open the door, smile that charming smile with fangs visible but she wouldn’t care, he’d say something suave that made her heart beat faster, she’d place her hand on the inside of his arm and she’d feel safe, and everything would be back to normal. 

But as she dragged her feet and nothing happened, she couldn’t help but feel like it was all going wrong. They’d felt so close the night before, regardless of how little time they’d actually known each other, and now he felt so far away, the trust and intimacy she’d been so desperately craving slipping between her fingers like grains of sand.

She finally decided to take action, to just knock on the door because it was simple and shouldn’t be causing her this much anguish. So she moved to the door, held her chin high and raised her fist to knock and-

The door opened and Rahadin stepped through. She tried to peek behind him, maybe catch a glimpse of Strahd, but Rahadin was quick and the door closed before she got a chance to even try. She tried to shove the disappointment down.

“You’re pacing is driving me insane,” Rahadin said, folding his arms and levelling an even stare at her. The posture made her nervous. Yes, his voice was calm as it usually was, but he normally stood so formally, hands at his side or clasped behind his back, not folded in front of him like that.

“At least you know what’s going on,” she said hesitantly, trying to match his even tone. “Is he okay?”

“He is fine.”

“He didn’t seem fine last night.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Stop pacing. He will call for you if he so desires,” Rahadin said and pushed past her, shoulder bumping into her own making her stumble backward into the wall. No, he certainly was not as calm as his words implied. Something was hidden behind those words, a contempt she hadn’t noticed until just then. 

“You don’t like me,” Ayla said as she hurried to match Rahadin’s pace.

He stopped and turned, meeting her gaze. “I have no opinion of you.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“Have I given you reason to doubt that?”

“Not until now.”

“You want to know what I think, truly?”

Ayla hesitated. He phrased it like a question, but it almost felt like a threat. No, not a threat, a dare. She could see it in how he held himself, in how his gaze was fixed on her with a strange intensity, waiting. She gritted her teeth and held her chin high, forcing her hands to rest calmly at her sides.

“Yes.”

“I think you care little for Strahd,” Rahadin said. “I think you care about your own safety and well-being and he is a means to an end for you. You worry now because your security is compromised, not because you are concerned for his well-being.”

Ayla’s confidence faltered as she took a step back. She’d been expecting that he didn’t like how she spoke or dressed or something about her personality, not that she was using Strahd. How could he think that? What had she done to make him think she was so selfish and manipulative?

“You think you’re the only one that cares about him?” She said quietly.

“To put it simply, yes.”

“What of Lady Watcher?”

“Again, she is a means to an end.”

Ayla frowned at him, shocked by his words and uncertain how to respond. “How can you be so judgmental?”

He scoffed and crossed his arms again. “Others have defied Strahd, tried to kill him, despised him, and labeled him the devil. Yet I have been his general, his bodyguard, his assassin, his chamberlain, whatever he has needed for half a millenia. It seems to me I am the least judgmental person in Barovia.”

“So you call yourself good because you accept one person out of thousands? How is that right?”

He tilted his head. “I never claimed to be good or  _ right _ . Do you not recall our conversation from a few days ago? I do not believe in such concepts.”

“Of course, I remember, you told me to judge Strahd based on who he is now. That’s what I’m doing!” Ayla took a steadying breath, forcing her voice to resemble something calm. “We’re not getting anywhere arguing about who has good intentions with Strahd. Can you please tell me how he’s doing other than fine?”

The contempt was back in his eyes, hiding behind his eerily calm voice, and she couldn’t miss how he towered over her and stepped closer.

“My loyalty lies with Strahd von Zarovich, son of King Barov and Queen Ravenovia, Count of Barovia, Master of the Night and All its Creatures, not with you,” his eyes raked down her body and back up, lips curling up in disgust. “Ayla, daughter of a drunkard. Unless my lord wishes, I owe you no such explanation. Now if you’ll excuse me,  _ my lady _ .” He bowed deeply, mockingly, before leaving and disappearing around a corner. 

“I bet everyone loves him at parties,” the imp said and Ayla jumped. She hadn’t had time to process any of that before the little red creature appeared in the air beside her head, wings flapping and holding him aloft.

“I… I’m not really sure what I did wrong there,” she said quietly. “Was I too bold?”

“Nah, you don’t want to be walked over. I get it. I don’t let Rahadin walk all over me either. Though that does usually end up with him slicing me in half with his sword,” he shrugged. “On the bright side, I seriously doubt he’d slice you in half with his sword.”

“That’s… comforting?”

“Glad I could help!” He grinned, all of his pointed teeth visible. “Oh! Want me to go piss him off? Usually making lewd jokes works.”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll just try to talk to him later.” She should probably apologize. She would likely be protective if she’d been in service of someone for as long as he.

The imp rolled his eyes. “Yeah, cause that worked  _ so _ well the first time. But if you’re just gonna stand here all gloomy, I’m going to go find something fun to do.” With that, he disappeared in the blink of an eye, though if Ayla focused, she could just barely hear his wings flapping, the noise getting quieter as the seconds passed until she was certain she was alone. 

Ayla wrapped her arms around herself. Perhaps she was being too presumptuous, perhaps Rahadin was right and she was using Strahd, inadvertently or not. Everything felt like it was happening so fast, was that a bad sign? She didn’t feel like she should be concerned, in fact she was feeling more comfortable than she had in a long time, but was that what Rahadin had meant, that she was using him for her own security?

Uncertain what else to do with her time, and not wanting to be alone with her thoughts, Ayla sought out Lady Watcher. She was in one of the sitting rooms, some sort of ledger in her lap and spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose. Lady Watcher didn’t pay her any mind as she sat in one of the chairs, trying not to think about Strahd being ill and alone or Rahadin being so disdainful of her. How anyone could seemingly hate another person when they knew so little was beyond her. She certainly didn’t hold such contempt for Rahadin.

Ayla found that she could only sit a few minutes before resumed her pacing. 

“What is it, dear?” Lady Watcher sighed but still didn’t look up as she turned a page.

“It’s nothing,” Ayla muttered.

“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be haunting the halls of my home like you are.”

“I… I’m just worried about him.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize we were stating the obvious.”

Ayla clenched her jaw. What else did everyone expect her to do? Pretend everything was fine? She remembered Rahadin’s words, how he looked at her with such disdain and… and hatred. Almost like her father had looked at her. Maybe she did only care about herself.

Maybe she just… didn’t belong here. She wasn’t a lady or a noble. Instead she was pretending to be one. Pretending she deserved not only the attention of a lord, but of the Count of Barovia. Pretending she had a place here in Lady Watcher’s home. Did she expect to be able to stay forever? What happened when the welcome wore off? What happened when-

“Ayla,” Lady Watcher said softly, drawing Ayla out of the mess that was her own thoughts. “I apologize. I’m being far too caustic. It’s what I do when I’m worried.” She shot Ayla a sympathetic smile.

As she plopped down into one of the chairs, slouching forward and holding her head up in her hands, Ayla tried to relax. She tried to ignore how even the way she sat right then showed she didn’t belong, especially in comparison to how Lady Watcher sat with her back perfectly straight, her shoulders back, her hands she deliberate, no fumbling or hesitation, she wasn’t even letting her leg bounce in nervousness. 

Lady Watcher frowned, closed the ledger, and removed her spectacles, giving Ayla her undivided attention. “What is on your mind? You may speak openly.”

“I don’t think I belong here,” Ayla admitted.

Lady Watcher cocked an eyebrow. “And where else would you belong, dear?”

“Back in Krezk, I guess.”

“You’d run back to your father?”

“No,” Ayla sighed and leaned back in the chair. “No, I wouldn’t. So I guess I’d go to the village of Barovia.”

Lady Watcher scoffed. “I would allow no such thing. No guest of mine is running off to that dreary place.”

“It’s drearier than the rest of Barovia?”

“Significantly. It has been run into the ground by fear and dreams of vengeance. But that is beside the point. Do you not remember what I told you before?”

“Figure out what I want.”

“And run  _ to _ it,” Lady Watcher said as she leaned forward, eyes intense. “Is leaving here what you want, or are you running away?”

An excellent question. Ayla had told Strahd that she wanted honesty, and that was true. She didn’t want any more broken promises. But she knew, deep down, that running at the first sign of conflict was not a life she wanted for herself. That’s what her father had done, in essence. Except he’d run straight into wine bottle after wine bottle. If she kept running, is that where she would find herself, lost in a bottle? 

“No, leaving isn’t what I want.”

“A different question, then. What brought all this on? Certainly it isn’t just about last night.”

“I… may or may not have gotten into a fight with Rahadin.”

“Ah,” Lady Watcher chuckled. “Yes, he is far less pleasant when he drops the formalities. He is an easy man to anger, but it isn’t so easy to get him to show it.”

“Great, thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” Ayla said dryly. But Lady Watcher just smiled at her.

“When you first came here, you wouldn’t have dared respond to me like that. Is this cat finally getting some claws?”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Most definitely. Though I do suspect your nerves are fanning this fire in you. Eventually you should look for other sources for that fire.”

Ayla let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and she rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension there. Lady Watcher put her spectacles back on and opened up the ledger, flipping through pages to find her place. The company was nice, so Ayla stayed for several minutes, just sitting and letting her gaze wander about the room. Pacing didn’t feel so necessary any longer.

“I can’t imagine it is only the pleasure of my conversations that keeps you in Vallaki. So what does?” Lady Watcher said quietly but continued staring at the pages.

_ I’ve always thought that hope is the armor of fools yet when I’m with you I find myself eagerly donning that armor. I find myself hoping, Ayla.  _ Strahd’s words echoed in her head.

When she’d been living in Krezk, something simple like going to a town event was filled with stress and worry. Everything was overwhelming, everything had the potential of making her hope before crushing it. Dancing with Strahd, all eyes on them, had made her nervous, but it hadn’t felt… oppressive.

“Hope,” Ayla finally said. “Hope keeps me here.”

“Then what are you doing sitting here?”

She had to run toward what she wanted, take hold of it and never let go, or this world would drag her down with it. How to do that?

An idea popped into her head. “Do you have any paint, Lady Watcher?”

“I can acquire some,” Lady Watcher said as she eyed Ayla over the frame of her spectacles.

“I’ll need a canvas as well.”

Lady Watcher cocked an eyebrow before waving her hand in dismissal. “Yes, yes, I can acquire that as well.”

Ayla stood and curtsied, barely keeping herself composed as excitement bubbled up in her. “Thank you, Lady Watcher. For your words and your hospitality.”

As she left the room, Ayla let herself hope.

* * *

Two days later, Ayla waited inside her room with her ear pressed to the door. She clung a painted canvas about the size of a book cover to her chest, clinging to it like it was her greatest possession. As far as she was aware, Strahd had still not left his room and Rahadin had become increasingly… snippy. She’d been avoiding the latter like the plague, not wanting his dour mood to ruin her own again. She was beginning to feel restless waiting there and wondered if Rahadin would ever leave Strahd’s room.

As if on cue, she heard a door open in the hall. Her muscles tensed as she waited, listening for footsteps though she heard none. Was Rahadin just standing out in the hall? Did he know she was waiting for him to leave? Muffled voices outside tempted her to peek, so she opened the door just a sliver. Rahadin stood at the top of the steps leading to the ground floor, his back to her. Ayla frowned, surprised she hadn’t heard him walk at all, though now that she thought about it, she never really heard his footsteps. Lady Watcher stood a few steps down, looking up at Rahadin.

“-setting the table for you now,” Lady Watcher finished.

“Thank you,” Rahadin said and made his way down the steps.

Lady Watcher looked directly at Ayla, finding her peeking out from behind her door, and Ayla’s heart beat faster. Something told her that the older woman wouldn’t approve of sneaking around and entering people’s rooms without permission. But she’d been spotted, and she was tired of cowering. So Ayla stood up straight, held her chin high, and left her room. Lady Watcher walked toward her, and they nodded at each other. She would have to wait, maybe start down the steps and come back up once Lady Watcher had left the hall and-

As they passed each other, Lady Watcher grabbed Ayla’s hand, placing something metal in her palm.

“You did not get this from me,” Lady Watcher whispered before letting go and entering the library. Ayla looked at her hand. A key. It seemed Lady Watcher wasn’t as disapproving of sneaking about as Ayla thought she’d be. This was her chance. Rahadin wasn’t near, she could slip into the room, give Strahd the painting, and… well she hadn’t really thought that far ahead. She just knew she didn’t want to sit around waiting while he moped around alone in the dark.

She unlocked the door as quietly as she could, pulse racing and breath held as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Though it was midday, the room was dark. The curtains were drawn, the hearth unlit. The only source of light came from half a dozen candles arranged in a circle on the floor. Ayla blinked, eyes struggling to adjust to the reduced lighting, but she could see a figure kneeling on the edges of the circle.

“Ayla,” Strahd said, straightening and resting back on his heels. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Her heart started to calm at the sound of his voice. He didn’t sound ill or angry, though perhaps a bit tired. She nodded, though she wasn’t certain if he could see it.

“The door was unlocked,” she lied. She couldn’t make out his features, but she could see him tilting his head.

“Ah, I see. Fiona distracted Rahadin then gave you a key.”

“What makes you think that?” Was she that bad of a liar that he was able to figure it out in a matter of seconds? She did her best to subtly slip the key into the bosom of her dress.

“Rahadin received a message from Lady Watcher via spell but a few minutes ago saying she’d had a meal prepared for him. I know he locked the door, yet here you are. The logical conclusion is that Lady Watcher purposefully lured Rahadin away, gave you a spare key, and went on her merry way. Am I incorrect?”

“Okay, so maybe that’s exactly what happened. But I was just worried and…” She thought of his words to her while they were dancing. “And I admit I had ulterior motives.”

“Oh? What ulterior motives?” He said and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She took a hesitant step forward. “I wanted to be near you.”

He waved her over. “Come, sit with me, then. Perhaps I was wrong to stay locked away as I have.”

She approached, eyes adjusting better to the low light, and the candles seemed to cast strange shadows on his face. Sitting down across from him, she placed the canvas face down next to her. Now that she was closer, she could see there were lines of white chalk drawn directly on the floorboards connecting the candles. A large eye was drawn in the center and on top of the iris lay an intricate mirror about the size of a plate. It had no handle. Strahd grabbed a piece of chalk and leaned forward, drawing intricate patterns between the outermost circle and the eye in the center.

Ayla watched for a minute before speaking. “Why did you stay locked away like this?”

“I’ve been thinking. Planning,” he said and glanced up at her, shadows darkening his eyes and cheeks. “And I didn’t think you would wish to see me.” He looked down, continuing the pattern in chalk.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you? It’s been three days, Strahd.”

“That long already? It seems I lost track of time.”

She didn’t miss how he’d avoided her question, but she didn’t press.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing a scrying spell. It has been brought to my attention that there are people committing serious crimes here in Vallaki.”

“What sort of crimes?” Ayla shifted, pulling one knee up to her chest and making certain her dress fell forward around her.

He paused. “It is not pleasant to hear of.”

Well, this was definitely not how she’d been expecting this conversation to go. She’d half expected him to be furious for barging in when she wasn’t welcome. Or maybe he would take back everything he’d said, say that he didn’t think she could make him happy, something other than this. But if something had been troubling him, she would gladly lend a listening ear.

“A lot of my life has been unpleasant.”

“There is a ring of people providing food and lodging to struggling young women. After a time, they are told they now owe a severe debt and are forced into having sex with strangers for money in order to pay off said debts.”

She blinked in surprise. Yet again, not something she had been expecting, though she couldn’t help but feel glad that this was something Strahd did not approve of. It made her think of her father, her father who told her to go be the devil’s whore. She looked up at Strahd and could just see his brows furrowed in concentration and anger. Anyone who forced women to… to do things like that deserved Strahd’s wrath, she decided.

“I… I can’t imagine going through that,” she said quietly.

“I will stop them, of that you can be certain.”

She waited until he set the piece of chalk to his side before speaking again. “Why didn’t you think I would want to see you?”

He reached up, using both hands to pull his hair up and back before attempting to tie it with a leather cord, but she noticed his hands shake ever so slightly and he had to start over. Eventually he succeeded, settling on a loose bun before letting his hands fall to his lap.

“You cannot see me well in this light, can you?” He said.

She shook her head. “The candles are casting strange shadows.”

He cast a spell, just a quick word in a language she didn’t know, and four fist sized glowing orbs appeared in the space around them, casting bright light into the room. She had to squint and blink at the sudden illumination, but eventually her gaze settled on Strahd, and she realized it hadn’t been strange shadows. He had dark circles under his eyes, his skin paler even than normal, ghastly, his cheeks sunken and his jaw and cheekbones more prominent. He looked… emaciated. Like he hadn’t eaten in a long-

“You’re starving,” she realized. “Why?”

“While you are technically correct, I cannot starve. This is as far as I will deteriorate.”

“That… that can’t be pleasant, Strahd,” she wanted to reach out and comfort him, rest a hand on his arm, hug him, something, anything to stop the suffering he must be feeling.

“No, it isn’t. My throat aches, my limbs somehow feel hollow, and a nap sounds fantastic right about now. But I have to find a way to eat without… expelling it all as you saw a few nights ago.”

“Are you sick? Is that what’s causing it?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“A combination of two things. One, I waited too long to drink. The last time was in Castle Ravenloft before my journey here. You saw the signs of it on Lady Watcher’s birthday. You asked if I was feeling well. Two, since arriving in Vallaki I have felt an… aversion to drinking blood. In the past, I have merely taken what I wanted. I will admit, I have wronged more people than I can count in my life, and I do not want to do that any longer. I met a man who was willing a week ago or so, but he was terrified. He didn’t want to be there, and all he wanted in return was clothes for his children. It felt exploitative. So I sent him away, still giving him the boon, mind you, and waited. After the celebrations in the town, I returned here and Rahadin brought a young woman for me to drink from. She was pleasant, nervous but unafraid. Manual labor wasn’t providing enough to cover her living expenses, she told me. She was exhausted by the end of the day. So she asked me for a small sum in exchange for her blood. I agreed. I learned soon after of the women being sexually exploited and that they had one other option to pay their debts.”

“Giving you blood.”

“Yes. It… disturbed me greatly. I did not like knowing that I had participated, unknowingly or not, and because she brought back gold, assured that these people would continue exploiting her.”

“You feel guilty.”

His expression softened, pained. “For centuries I believed myself above reproach. I never felt guilty because I had done nothing wrong. Now?” He sighed. “Now I do not know what to do with myself.”

“What changed?”

“Many things. Perhaps I will tell you of them at a later date,” he said and pulled out a small piece of cloth. A bit of a rug? It had an odd pattern. Then it hit her, there had been a rug on the floor of Strahd’s room that night. It was gone now, and this bit of it was stained with blood. He set the piece on top of the mirror.

“This has some of the woman’s blood on it,” he explained. “And will make the spell much easier to cast. I can relay what I see if you are interested.”

“Sure. Maybe I can help somehow.”

He smiled softly at her, the last thing she saw clearly before the glowing orbs in the air disappeared, leaving the room lit only by the candles again. Strahd shifted, sitting criss cross before the circle, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He arranged his hands into an odd shape, but one with purpose, and held them out over the candle closest to him.

“ _ Oculis videre _ ,” he said in a commanding tone, the last syllable seeming to echo like several voices overlapping. The lines of chalk in front of him started to glow, their light spreading outward along the lines like cracks forming in ice, and as the glow reached the candles, the flames flickered out until the only light left was that of the lines of chalk. After a moment, the chalk started to fade as the mirror in the center glowed blue. Strahd’s eyes opened, eyes shining the same color as the mirror, everything else in the room dark. All was silent.

“The woman I told you about, the one that I drank from, is sitting in a room. Her name is Danya. While many of the details of the room are fuzzy, I can see she is sitting on the edge of a bed. She is humming and sewing a patch onto a dress,” Strahd said. It was eerie to watch, but fascinating. Ayla hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She leaned forward, intrigued by the spell. What was he seeing? How did it work?

He did not speak again for several minutes. Everytime he blinked, she could see his eyes glowing through his eyelids. She wasn’t certain how long the spell would last, and was about to ask when he spoke again.

“Someone has entered the room. She has stopped humming. I cannot see the person. They have a masculine voice,” he frowned. “They are arguing. The man has someone waiting for her. She says she just brought back money from the Count, that should cover her for a week at least. I can see him now, vaguely. He has stepped close to her. He says he doesn’t care what she did, expenses have gone up.” She saw his shoulders tense. “He has asked if she wants to go for a swim like Olivenka. She is backing down, shaking her head no. I can hear him walking away and the door closing. She is sitting down again, putting the needle and thread away.”

The glowing stopped, plunging the room into darkness.

“Damn it.”

“Can you cast it again on the man you saw?” Ayla asked, unsure how else she could be of help.

“I will try,” he said and lit one of the candles. He reached for the second but a tremor seemed to take him again, his hand shaking and he quickly set the candle down before clutching his hand to his chest. He couldn’t starve to death, but he’d admitted it still affected him. Ayla reached for his hand and after a moment of hesitation, he gave it to her. She worked her fingers across his hand, turning it over so she could gently massage his palm with her thumbs. He winced at first, just barely, so she lightened her touch. She watched his body carefully and noticed his shoulders relax and droop.

“You can have my blood,” she said, shocked by how they flowed so easily from her lips. She hadn’t even really thought about it, she just wanted him to feel better. If blood would do it, then why not? “You don’t have to feel guilty about drinking my blood. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

He pulled his hand back. “No.”

“I-”

“ _ No _ . If you wish to help, you can light the rest of the candles.”

There was a pain in his voice that made her heart hurt for him. No blood then, but she could certainly light candles.

“Whatever you need,” she said and took the tinderbox he offered. He took the chalk as she lit the candles, meticulously and slowly drawing out the symbols again.

“I should not have spent so long wallowing in self pity,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Foolish.”

“I think you need to learn to forgive yourself,” Ayla said softly as she finished and settled back down, choosing to sit next to him instead of across from him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye but did not comment. The pattern was intricate, and he was still drawing a few minutes later.

“That is easier said than done.”

“For a long time, I blamed myself for my father’s drunkenness. I thought that maybe if I’d been a better daughter, if I’d said the right things, if I took care of him better, then maybe he’d stop. He never did. I know I had to leave yet I still somehow feel guilty for leaving him all alone. I’m still learning to forgive myself for that.”

“You did nothing wrong. There is nothing for you to forgive.”

“And I don’t think you did anything wrong in drinking Danya’s blood. You didn’t know what she’d been involved in and you’re working to stop it all. So what is there to forgive?”

“I doubt she feels the same.”

“I think she will be grateful for any help you give.”

“Perhaps. You are not… put off by my drinking blood?”

“It’s what you have to do to live right? I’m not put off by people having to breathe in order to live.”

“You have a refreshing perspective,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking ever so slightly, before he concentrated on finishing the chalk lines.

She pulled her knee up to her chest again and rested her chin on it, spending the next couple minutes watching his features. His eyes transfixed her, the warm glow of the candles illuminating the gold in his eyes, the intensity in his brow and jaw. Regardless of the sunken cheeks and the pale skin, it was still him. She could see it in how he held himself, in how his lips pulled taught as he focused. Even with the dreary nature of the situation, she found it easier to relax as she watched him. A strand of his hair fell loose from the bun, brushing against his cheek. Pausing momentarily, he pushed the hair behind his ear. She wondered what his hand would feel like against her own skin.

He sat back suddenly and met her gaze. “See something you like?”

She blinked, realizing how she’d just been sitting there staring at him, and blushed as she looked away, trying to focus on the patterns on the floor. He chuckled next to her, deep and low.

“I admit, I am surprised you are so unperturbed by me.”

She shrugged and started fiddling with a loose string on the hem of her sleeve. “It’s still you.”

“You don’t think me a monster?”

“I’ve seen monsters before. I see none in you.”

He hummed next to her, a sound of appreciation, maybe, before removing the bit of blood stained rug from the mirror in the center and did not replace it with anything else.

“This one will be harder for you to cast, won’t it?” She wondered aloud.

“You are correct. I have no item of his, I do not know his name, I have not met him in person. I have only seen a vague likeness of him. I will not be surprised if he resists it.”

He held his hands out in the same shape again and she watched more closely this time, hoping to memorize it, but she didn’t get much of a chance before he started the spell.

“Oculis videre,” he said, but unlike before, the last syllable fell flat. The chalk lines all flashed red in a burst of light, winking out at the same time as all of the candles. The mirror did not glow. They were consumed by darkness yet again.

“He has resisted,” Strahd sighed. “I will not be able to try again with him until this time tomorrow.”

“Do you have any other leads?” She said, turning her head to face him again though she couldn’t see anything.

“I have suspicions, nothing solid,” he said, and she could hear in how his voice changed that he had turned his head to face her. She had a sneaking suspicion that he could see fine in the darkness.

“What sort of suspicions?”

“Well, there are two possible locations I can think of. The Inn here in Vallaki. Lots of foot traffic, lots of opportunity to find victims and clients. This was the first location that Rahadin suspected as well, particularly because my informant claims to frequent the locale. Rahadin believes the man to be involved somehow and attempting to clear a guilty conscience. The other possibility is Arasek Stockyard. It houses a large warehouse that, while very different from the inn, still receives many visits from workers. Hard day of labor loading and unloading merchandise in the warehouse followed by company and a warm bed would be appealing for many.”

“Unless the owners of the inn are involved, that seems unlikely.”

“I agree.”

“But you could speak with the owners and rule them out. If your informant seemed suspicious, it could be a good lead.”

“It seems we think alike, Ayla,” he said, a smile in his voice. There was something about how he said her name that sent a tingle up her spine.

“Do you think… do you think you could teach me how to do that?” She asked, partly serious and partly as a distraction from thinking about what other ways he might say her name.

“You mean the spell? Scrying is very complex, but if you are interested, I can certainly start teaching you the basics first.”

She nodded in response. He did not ask for clarification, so she figured her earlier guess about him being able to see in the dark was likely accurate.

“What did you bring in the room with you?”

“Oh,” she’d nearly forgotten about that. “It’s, um, a gift. For you.”

She heard his clothes rustle as he leaned forward and grabbed it, which was great because she didn’t remember where exactly she’d left it, and when he sat back down, she noticed how he was closer, his side brushing against hers. Her heart beat faster. Could he feel it? She wasn’t certain if that would be a good thing or not.

“It’s a sunset,” he breathed, a sense of awe in his words. “You painted me a sunset?”

“I tried. All I had to go by was what you told me about the clouds and the colors, but I have no idea if I got the hues right or if it's too saturated or something.”

“Why?”

“You told me you wanted to be happy. You stayed locked up, I thought you may be sick or something, or at the very least definitely not happy. I thought this might cheer you up, maybe get you to talk to me.”

He sighed heavily. “I have been unfair to you. I should not have stayed locked away, regardless of my state of mind.”

“But it’s not just about your state of mind. You were in pain, and people do strange things when they’re in pain.”

“That is a terrible excuse and I know it. Here I was, agonizing over my own pride and guilt, while you were remembering my tales of the sun, tales of something I have lost and longed for, and recreated it for me,” he said and set the painting to the side before taking her hand in his own. She could feel his fingertips graze her palm, the inside of her wrist, his thumb on the back of her hand and she was certain he could feel her pulse quicken because how could he not? It was pounding in her chest and she wouldn’t be surprised if he could  _ hear _ it. Was this how he felt when she’d taken his hand?

“Thank you, Ayla, for your gift and your company,” he said, and the way he said her name  _ did _ sound different that time, more reverent, more…  _ something _ that she couldn’t quite put words to. She’d been so worried, so afraid that she’d lose what little intimacy they’d started to build and here he was, apologizing, thanking her, lifting her hand to brush his lips against her knuckles in the softest of kisses, and she couldn’t help but wonder what that would feel like against her own lips and by the gods, she was done for and she knew it. 

Something in her chest felt like it was pulling her closer to him, and before she could let herself think, she reached up with her free hand in the dark, searching for him. Her hand found his chest and he hummed again, almost a purr, but like a question as well. She moved her hand up until she’d found his shoulder, his neck, then placed her palm against his cheek. His grip tightened ever so slightly on her other hand but he did not stop her. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth and he leaned into her touch.

Ayla pressed her lips to his, softly, barely even touching, and all at once she realized she had no idea what she was doing. She’d never been kissed before, let alone kissed anyone herself. What if she was doing it wrong, what if she messed up somehow and he never wanted to kiss her again? Oh gods, what if he didn’t want her to do it  _ now _ ? Had she already-

He kissed her back, more urgently than she had, and her heart skipped a beat. He let go of her hand, instead grabbing her waist, fingers clutching desperately like she’d be ripped away from him if he let go. His other hand trailed up her neck, cupping the back of her head and pulling her close as she leaned into the kiss. Her own hands fell to his chest, grabbing at the fabric and she felt him hum again and why, oh, why hadn’t she done this when they’d danced? Why had she ever worried she wasn’t right where she wanted to be? He pulled away and she nearly whimpered at the loss of his touch.

“I may not need to breathe, but you seem to be struggling with it,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying not to pay attention to how he was right, how her traitorous lungs couldn’t seem to get enough air..

He didn’t wait any longer, though instead of kissing her lips, he tangled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head to the side, trailing kisses up her jaw, just barely grazing her skin. Attempting to lean in closer didn’t get him to kiss her again, instead making him chuckle. Finally, blessedly, he pressed his lips to her skin, kissing that spot right behind her ear where her jaw meets her neck and she couldn’t stop a small gasp from escaping her mouth. He kissed that spot again and her back arched ever so slightly, her body gravitating toward him and-

Light bathed them as the door to the room opened and Ayla was reminded how they were sitting alone, on the floor, in a dark room, and they’d been caught. She blushed furiously, deciding it would be far kinder to herself to hide her face in Strahd’s shoulder than to face whoever was now looking at them. Strahd let out a growl, an actual growl, directed toward the intruder as he moved his hand from her waist to the small of her back protectively.

“Apologies,” Rahadin said in a neutral tone. The door closed.

Ayla pulled away and he let go of her, however reluctantly. She tried to get her breathing under control as she reached up and touched the spot on her neck he’d kissed.

“Well,” Strahd said. “I did not expect that. When did you grow so bold?”

“Is it a bad thing?” She asked, though based on how he’d grabbed at her waist and deepened the kiss, she couldn’t imagine he’d say it was a bad thing.

“ _ Dolum _ ,” he said, and the candles in front of them lit all at once. The lines of chalk were gone, burned up by the failed scrying spell. He grinned at her. “Not a bad thing at all.”

She almost got lost in his eyes again, and she forced herself to stand before she did something rash like kiss him again. “It seems you have a lot of work to do, I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” She headed for the door.

“Ayla?”

“Yes?”

“I still owe you a ride by the lake.”

“How about after you get this all sorted out? So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I will inform you as soon as I have handled the matter.”

She nodded. “And Strahd?”

“Yes?”

“Please promise me you’ll eat something soon?”

He sighed. “I will. But I make no promises about that ‘forgiving myself’ part.”

“Can I…” she hesitated by the door. “Can I see you again today?”

“I will come to you, even if it is just to wish you a good night’s rest.”

“Thank you.”

As she closed the door behind her, she spotted Rahadin leaning up against the wall by the top of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest. She could have dipped her head low, stared at the ground, and avoided eye contact. But no. Regardless of status, she was exactly where she wanted to be, and she wasn’t going to cower before a moody elf. Ayla held her chin up and stared straight ahead, walking with confidence, not even giving him the time of day. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, but he said nothing, so neither did she.

Despite what he’d said, she didn’t see him that afternoon or evening. In fact, it wasn’t until she was dressed in a nightgown, hair braided so it wouldn’t knot, and ready to crawl into bed that she heard a knock at her door. She opened it to find him standing there in his full regalia, dark vest over a long sleeved shirt, cloak draping over his shoulders. His hair was brushed back behind his ears but not tied back at the nape of his neck like usual. And he looked better, the dark circles under his eyes gone, his cheeks fuller, more alive. She didn’t miss how his eyes traveled down her body before darting back up to her lips. 

She blushed, mumbling something about it being late, but he just pressed a quick kiss to her lips and whispered a quick goodnight before he was gone, his form disappearing down the unlight hallway. He’d kept his promise and that fect left her feeling giddy. She practically floated to her bed before collapsing into the blankets.

Unfortunately, she did not dream of pleasant things. She tossed and turned but when she awoke, jolting upright, sweat dripping from her forehead and her breathing erratic, all she could remember was wispy, dark smoke and the feeling of dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore the fact that Strahd saw himself in the mirror in chapter 8. I... I have no excuse for this xD
> 
> Again thanks to my writing group, dispatchwithlove, Hibbidyhai, and ST_Le. They are invaluable.


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